


Still of the Night

by WhisperingOrchard



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 1940s, 1950s, Angst, Forbidden Love, Historical AU, M/M, Romance, Sadstuck, Some Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-10 15:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 78,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingOrchard/pseuds/WhisperingOrchard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>COMPLETE.</p><p>As the hump of the century comes and goes, so does the controversial romance between Jake English and the ever-intriguing Dirk Strider. This is the story of a love found, lost, and rediscovered anew. 1940s-1950s AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is not going to be an incredibly cheery story. The best word I can find to describe this is "bittersweet"--meaning that, all the way to the end, things could get quite saddening. This is also my first time writing anything for Homestuck.
> 
> This story is also based in the late 40s-50s. The first bit is set in 1948-ish. That will become more prevalent later on.

Omelette... or pancakes?

As he bears his emerald gaze into the depths of the breakfast menu, Jake English can not help but wonder one thing; when this sort of pointless decision became his most important aspect of every morning. Should he go with the ever-scrumptious omelette, stuffed with cheese and breakfast sausage crumbles? Or perhaps the sweeter, doughier alternative that is a freshly-flipped pancake...?

The thought makes him simultaneously face-palm and salivate. He is, admittedly, a bit disgusted with himself. The fact that a bloke born in the Pacific wilderness has been reduced to a town-dwelling factory man is enough to churn his stomach. His grandmother would be disappointed in him, bless her soul...

Shaking such thoughts from his head, he turns to the approaching waittress and orders a stack of pancakes with a tall glass of milk. No harm getting in touch with one's inner child.  "Golly, I'm starving..." he mumbles to himself, eyes flitting about the quaint, tiny diner in this Houston suburb. With the rise of suburban life came the arrival of new opportunities for middle-class gentlemen as himself, though he cannot deny that these blue-collar and white-collar jobs bore him to tears. Had he his way, Jake would much rather fend off rabid, wild critters than settle in this muffling outskirt. But such is just never the way the hypothetical cookie crumbles. 

He lightly runs a hand through his dark strands of hair, glancing at each of the speckled crimson tables 'round his own. This place is oddly crowded today, he notes in the back of his mind. Quite a head-scratcher, really. Normally this place has no business whatsoever, save for a few old-timey couples and the more unfortunate war veterans. Yet today is peculiarly different; every table, save for his own, is entirely full, and the idle chattering of many begins to thread itself through his ears.

Then again, he supposes there is much about this town that he has yet to wrap his head around completely.

His absent glances grow rather tiresome, and he dares turn his head once more before peering back down at the neatly painted table beneath his large tanned hands. There are times when he, admittedly, feels slightly awkward in social situations such as these. There are contributing factors, of course, such as his lack of experience in that aspect of life. Needless to say, living in near-isolation on an island in the Pacific doesn't give one much skill in socializing with anyone above a primitive level. On top of that, with the conclusion of another world war, he occasionally receives a glare of the irked nature; immigrants are not always approved of by all, and his skin tone and accent are hint enough of his alien origin.

"Your pancakes." The waitress' perky voice snaps him out of his reverie, refocusing his attention (and his stomach fluids) to the scrumptious sight of three fluffy white pancakes stacked atop one another, practically drowning in sugary syrup and glops of butter. "And don't worry, I made sure it stayed as far away from the nuts as possible."

"Heh heh, splendid thinking there, miss." Jake smiles a gentle, toothy grin at the waitress, who giggles lightly before slinking back toward the kitchen. Shrugging, Jake reaches out for his napkin and tucks it neatly in his lap. Bon appetite, as the French would say.

"I'm sorry, sir." The prior waitress' voice distantly meets his ears as he takes his first bite, muting out the euphoria of flavors in his mouth for a moment as he tries to determine the situation ensuing a few meters away. "But we're completely full this morning..."

It would seem that she is having problems seating all of the customers... Well, it would only be polite to offer the empty seat across from him at this table, since he isn't using it for anything... Shrugging, he waves his hand through the air for a moment. "Miss, I would be real delighted to share my table!" No need to be discourtious to whomever needs to sit down and eat. The waitress peers his direction and gives a hesitant nod before returning her attention to whomever is requesting a seat.

As the newcomer approaches the table, Jake cannot help but gawk slightly (and subtly) at this man's unusual appearance. He is average in height (not a whole lot different from Jake himself in this respect), but holds himself with a slight haughtiness. He wears the typical garbs for one of his status (a casual charcoal suit), yet shields his eyes 'hind what appears to be a pair of triangular sunglasses. His face is lightly dusted with a spackling of pale freckles, and he looks as though he has been urgently avoiding any form of direct sunlight for the vast majority of his life. He clacks against the checkered tiles beneath his shoes as his feet drag in a peculiar gait. Perhaps what Jake finds so off about this newcomer is his hair; rather than the typical neatness that most other men seem to style, this man dresses his wickedly blonde hair in a manner that spikes and slicks it back slightly, in a way that is perhaps too bizarre to fully explain. In short, he looks bloody outlandish.  

Yet for this much, Jake cannot help but revere him. This stranger, in short, stands out like a sore thumb.

And in this era, standing out can be nothing less than dangerous.

"Err..." Jake coughs lightly and sets his fork aside for a moment. Well, this is mildly... awkward. The newcomer slides hesitantly into the empty seat and scoots himself into the table, staring intently at Jake to the point of causing the latter severe discomfort. "... H-Here's a menu, mate..." He hands the blonde a breakfast menu with a slight shiver as those gaudy shades bear their eyes into his face.

"I'm not hungry." He speaks with a voice slightly deeper than Jake is expecting, though it also contains a twinge of Texan drawl, to the point where Mr. English has to stifle back a small chuckle. His voice makes him seem, perhaps, even more ridiculous. Breaking his fervent stare at Jake, the blonde orders a cup of coffee, setting the menu aside and returning his gaze to Jake's face. 

At least, that's where Jake believes his eyes are staring. Behind those clunky glasses, it's hard to tell if this man even HAS any eyes. Hell, Jake even admits to staring a bit himself, mostly because of the blonde's peculiar appearance. But the way those spectacles fixate upon his face just makes him quite uncomfortable.

"Strider." The stranger speaks again, not once lowering his assumed gaze at Jake's tanned mug. "The name's Dirk Strider." He does not hold out a hand for a shake, and instead lifts a pale eyebrow slowly above his shades.

"Ah... Jake English." He swallows. "Delighted to meet you, old chap." His eyes widen slightly as the briefest, subtlest of smiles curls on Dirk's lips, though it disappears so quickly that Jake wonders if, perhaps, he had imagined it. "S-So... Um, what do you do for a living?"

The waitress places Dirk's coffee in front of him; he grabs the glass of ice water beside it and gulps down all of the water before startling his company and pouring the coffee into the ice glass. Jake's jaw drops. Black coffee over ice? This Dirk fellow truly is insane. Dirk explains simply that he has trouble stomaching overly hot drinks, which Jake finds to be a bit odd but makes no attempt to press further.  Dirk speaks again. "I'm unemployed."

"... Oh..." Jake's gaze falters slightly, cheeks pinkening a little. Whoops. "Gee, sorry about that."

"Don't be." Taking a brief sip of his iced beverage, Dirk glances back up at Jake's face. "I'll get a sweet deal somewhere. Just gotta give it time."

His mannerisms still baffle poor Jake, but he doesn't press any further. "I work down at the Chrysler factory, a few miles away. Blimey, do I hate it..." He shakes his head. "Miss the good old days of wrestling down wild creatures every morning just to survive. Miss the adventure of it all..." His voice begins to fade as he notices Dirk's stare upon him once more. Blimey, this guy is making him nervous...! "... Gadzooks, look at the time! Sorry to leave you here, mate, but I've another adventure in the factory business to get on with! So... Er, so long!"

Without awaiting another word from Dirk, Jake rises and makes his way to the exit, dropping some money on the bar to pay for his meal. He shuts the diner door behind him and exhales slowly, placing a hand to his forehead. 

Wow. That was probably the most awkward social interaction he has ever had with anyone, and coming from someone who lived with next to no human contact prior to World War II, that's saying something.  Not only had Dirk himself been peculiar beyond reason, but he had gotten Jake's old speech patterns out at a ghastly rate. Then again, under pressure, he supposes that's just something that occurs from time to time... But still. 

Unexpectedly, his stomach gives a low gurgle, and a twinge of hunger nestles in the pit of his abdomen. Oh, his pancakes...! He had completely forgotten until now. Well, blast! There is virtually no chance of going back inside to get them and risking another strange encounter with Mr. Strider. A frown taints his dry lips, broken by a deep sigh. Shrugging it off, he begins trudging down the sidewalk, wincing at the idea of yet another day in such an unsettling environment. Oh, how he detests his job...! He wants nothing more than to travel the world, adventures at every turn... Perhaps it is childish, or unorthodox, but his priorities seem so different from everyone else's. Other men seem to rather enjoy the simple life: working all day, chasing dames all night... None of that appeals to him at all, really. Standard jobs are a bore, and as far as ladies go, he really only knows two well enough to even hold casual conversations with. And there is absolutely no way he would ever consider settling down with Roxy Lalonde. Jane, maybe. Roxy? He would sooner marry a Tasmanian Devil. 

Heh, now there is a thought. Settling down with a Tasmanian Devil? The mere thought makes him chuckle. Imagine, little buck-toothed, bespectacled hairy things crawling around on the floor. Why, that's simply absurd, though the idea is enough to snap him out of his prior slump.

~*~*~*~

Ah, lunchbreak. Needless to say, it never comes soon enough for poor Jake English, who now sits off to the side with his companion and coworker Roxy Lalonde, snacking on a baloney sandwich and trying to get his mind off of everything. "-and then this morning, I went to breakfast, and there was this guy, Strider, who seemed really off his rocker..."

"Strider?" Roxy gazes at him from behind her own food, peculiar magenta eyes glossy and inquisitive. Smoothing out her skirt, she leans herself further back against the wall. He cannot help but note how this is probably the most sober she has been in quite some time. Then again, if she managed to stay in the factory after the war ended, she must be pretty resourceful, despite her frequent tipsy days. "Did you say Strider? Dirk or Dave?"

Jake's eyebrows rise slightly above his glasses. "... Dirk..." His head cocks to the side a little. "You know the Striders?"

"Know them? They're my cousins." Somehow, Roxy's relation to Dirk doesn't surprise him all that much. She has always been a bit bizarre as well...  "Didn't know they were still around here. I haven't seen Dirk since he left for the war..."

So he's a veteran? Jake grunted in surprise, taking another ravenous bite of his sandwich. Baloney has never tasted so good. "He seems to be a bit of a loon..."

"Oh, Jakey, you and your weird words..." Jakey? Okay, perhaps she isn't as sober as he had given her credit for. "Nah, he's not a "loon". He's kind of weird, and wears sunglasses all the time, but he's actually pretty selfless. He's nice, once you get past his-"

"Does he always stare at everyone...?" Jake interrupts, remembering the intense gaze that had been glued to him earlier this morning.

Roxy gives a little "hmm", tapping her chin in thought. "Not that I remember. But the war could've changed him. It changed a lot of people, anyway."

Somehow, he doubts that the staring is due to Dirk's experiences in WWII, but he doesn't dwell on it too much. It was only a chance encounter, after all. It isn't likely he'll ever see Mr. Strider again. As he parts his lips to speak again, the bell goes off, signaling the end of lunch. Stuffing the rest of his sandwich into his bag, Jake rises from his seat and, politely offering Roxy a hand, heads back into the factory. 

~*~*~*~

"See you later, Rox."

As evening falls on the horizon, the work day comes to a close. Giving a tiny yawn, Jake bids farewell to Roxy and begins the walk back home, lost in an array of disorganized thoughts. The workday always seems to leave him with a feeling of disorientation. Rubbing his aching shoulders, he trudges onward, peering up at the sky as it darkens to an indigo shade. He passes the diner, as it happens to be on the way home, and idly gazes inside at the table he had been sitting at earlier that day. Sure enough, the pancakes are gone, and so is Dirk. But he can't say he really expected either to remain there at the table, because really, that's plain absurd. 

Darn it all... He just can't get this morning off of his mind.

Sighing gently, he runs his fingers through his hair and continues onward, eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. "Drat..." Perhaps Dirk has been on his mind because of how rudely he had left the blonde earlier. That's truly the only explanation he has for himself. Be it that or something more, Jake feels downright guilty, and this is something he can hardly stand.

It isn't long before he reaches his abode. It's a simple, ranch-style home, with a faded orange paint job on the outer walls and a neutralized green upon the roof. He daresay his house looks somewhat akin to a pumpkin, though this has never bothered him all that much. Opening the door, Jake steps inside and removes his hat, inhaling the comforting scent of English. He relishes being in his own house, if only for the familiarity of it all. This is an English household, nothing else, nobody else's. Shutting the door behind him, he places his hat and coat on the coatrack near the wall, all but collapsing on the floral-print sofa and sighing deeply. Once this is out of his system, he sits reluctantly back up and reaches forward, turning the dial on the television and trying to find something to watch.

He can't help it; these little moving pictures are, perhaps, his greatest weakness.

He winds up settling for an episode of Americana, sitting back in his seat, and fixating his eyes on the tele. He isn't much of a fan of this show, though it does help with his knowledge of America, to a certain extent. He curls up, bringing his legs to his chest, and lying lazily across the couch, setting his glasses aside on the floor. Letting a breathy yawn slip past his lips, Jake's blurred vision fades away, his eyelids glide shut, and his breathing regulates.

Thus it is that Jake English delves into a deep, dream-ridden snooze, lulled by the gentle hum of the television. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the kudos/commentary. Greatly appreciated. :3

Jake wonders, at times, what sort of sick game his life has become over the course of his twenty-two years, because whatever all-powerful being exists watching over him seems to get a real kick out of making him miserable. 

And so it is that Jake English runs into Dirk Strider for the second time in the course of seven days.

Jake had made his daily trip to the diner every morning since their first encounter, and the blonde had never once shown his freckled mug in the tiny joint. Just when he thought he had seen the last of Mr. Strider, lo and behold, Dirk had appeared before his eyes the next Monday, exactly one week since their first meeting. 

Thus, it is now that Jake finds himself eyeing a greased, blonde head of hair as it enters through the door. 

It's a simple Monday morning, to say the least. As per usual, the diner is mostly barren, save himself and a cranky, bickering old couple that frequents this joint. Somewhere in the kitchen, "Far Away Places" begins to play.  He can also hear the faint sound of drizzle as it splutters against the window.

Apart from the music, arguing, and rain, it's a generally peaceful morning, and he wouldn't have it start any other way (aside from a gunfight with a flying bull, perhaps). He has ordered an omelette this time, and takes a bite every now and then,  though not without an occasional fleeting glance at Dirk as he enters the diner.  The mere sight of the man had almost made him choke on his eggs. Taking a long swig of milk, he continues to gobble down his meal, hurriedly lowering his eyes when Dirk looks his way.

Much to Jake's relief, Dirk seats himself at a table quite a ways away from him. Exhaling slowly, he takes another bite of his omelette, paying no mind to the other man. Oh, what was wrong with him? Yes, the two had had an embarrassing discussion once before, but it had lasted a mere five minutes!

Well... he has yet to apologize, so perhaps that is his greatest problem.

An eyebrow quirks up as his eyes flick back toward the Strider. Readjusting his sunglasses, Dirk has ordered a cup of coffee again, and has once more proceeded to pour it over ice. This time, however, he orders (two?) plates of waffles, without syrup or butter.

Some people are just peculiar, Jake suspects. Yes, he himself is mighty strange, but... Not like this. And Jake isn't American, so he at least has a bit of an excuse.

Yet... Something about this bizarre stranger he finds... intriguing, as if some external force is tugging him toward Dirk, itching to discover more of these odd antics, to see beneath those black glasses and unveil his true eyes. To unearth the mystery that is Dirk Strider.

But this is probably just another inclination toward adventure and thrill, so he shoves it aside for now and takes another large bite of omelette.

As he finishes up his eggy meal, Jake leaves the waitress a generous tip and stands from the chair, checking the round black clock hanging on the wall. He has time to kill... Perhaps an apology is in order after all. That requires actually speaking to Dirk, and while this is the last person he wants to get involved with, he feels he won't be guiltless until it is done.

That or he has a masochistic side he has never been aware of.

Probably the latter.

Swallowing a gulp of saliva, he clears his throat and forces his legs to carry him to Dirk's table, standing at the end and avoiding the other man's face with his eyes. "G'day, Mr. Strider..." His gaze catches the two plates of waffles next to his hands. Both are untouched.  "Look, I need to talk to you..."

Dirk leans his chin on his palm, resting his elbow upon the tabletop. "... Yeah? What is it?"

"About last week..." Jake rubs anxiously at the nape of his neck, making a face. "I didn't mean to leave you in the dust like that... Sorry, mate." At Dirk's vacant expression, Jake coughs absently, grinning nervously at the stranger. How ridiculous he must sound...!  "I mean, it's just that you're a different sort of fellow, and-"

"That's it?" Shrugging his shoulders, Dirk leans back against the seat, adjusting his jacket and setting his coffee cup back on the tabletop. "You actually feel guilty for that? All this time later?"

"... Huh?" Emerald eyes widening, Jake makes an incredulous face and slides into the empty seat across from Dirk. "Mr. Strider, what are you-"

"Dirk."

"... Dirk, what are you implying? Are you mad?"

"Just surprised that made you feel so guilty, I guess." Dirk shrugs again, a tick that, Jake notices, seems a bit habitual. "I never thought anything of it. People are bastards to me all of the time."

He just implied I was a bastard... Jake thinks with a grimace. This guy will forever baffle him, it seems... "W-Well, anyway, I need to head to work soon, so-"

"I got a job."

That's enough to make Jake pause for the briefest of moments. Who in their right mind would ever hire such a man? "Oh, really? Where?"

Dirk jerks his thumb behind him. "The mechanics shop down the road. It's the shit."

"... "It's the" WHAT?" Messing with his own hair, the islander squeezes his eyes tightly shut and gives a little sound of frustration. "Oh, dang nabbit, nothing you say makes a lick of sense!"

A stifled chuckle erupts suddenly from Dirk's chest, but is soon followed by an uncontainable, genuine laugh. It's low, quiet, and a bit wheezy, but it's probably the most emotion Jake has ever seen the Strider display in their two encounters, and he cannot help the swelling success that wells within his own chest. He himself has elicited such a response, nobody else. The pride that he suddenly holds is a bit confusing, in all honesty, though it felt darn good. 

Coughing and giving a deep exhale, Dirk regains his cool composure and straightens his back, veiled stare fixated upon Jake's face once more, all remnants of the previous smile wiped clean from his features. "Time to head out." He stands, grabbing the two plates of waffles (which, Jake notes, have been placed on different plates than are usually used here) and scooting out from the table. He gives one last backwards peer at Jake, lowering his sunglasses only slightly. "Until next time, "mate".". And, with this final mimicry of Jake's accent, he pushes the diner door open and makes his exit.

Meanwhile, Jake is left to sit there at the table, an expression upon his face that implies just how truly befuddled he is. His eyes continue to gawk at the door with sheer amazement, unable to will his legs forward. Within the cavity of his chest, his heart pounds wildly, rushing blood to his ears and sending his bushed eyebrows upward.

What... Exactly just happened?

Rapidly, he shakes his head and pushes such thoughts from his head. After all, at this rate, he'll be late for work. Taking a deep breath, he rises from his seat and, pushing his askew glasses back up his nose, exits the diner. As he dons his Homburg hat once more, Jake shakes his head yet again and commences the trek to his workplace, a singular thought fogging up his mind for the entirety of the wall.   

Dirk's eyes are orange.

~*~*~*~

"Well, see you around, Roxy."

"Hold on, there!" Roxy hurriedly snatches Jake by the back of the collar, tugging him backwards toward her. Night has fallen over the city, and, after yet another tiresome work day, Jake desires nothing more than a long night's rest. Unfortunately, it seems Ms. Lalonde has different ideas. "Jake, wait!"

"What sort of poppycock do you think you're-"

"Jake!" Roxy huffs and tugs him back again. "Now don't you start with that again, deary. You're coming with me whether you like it or not."

He sighs. "Roxy, you know drinking isn't really my thing..."

"Aw, come on~, it'll be fun!" She gives a little whimper and clamps onto his arm, pressing her cheek against his shoulder and peering up at him with large candy-shop eyes. Many men would likely be deterred by her antics, and by the way she presses her breasts against his arm, but Jake knows her well enough to be mostly unbothered by such motions. He knows that's pretty much the last thing she's after.   "Please~? We don't even have to go to a bar. Just come over to my place for a bit. Drinking alone gets lonely."

"Oh Rox, not today!" He lightly kneads his temples, wriggling out of her vice grip.  "I already had to deal with Strider again, and work-"

At the mention of her cousin's name, Roxy perks up slightly and raises an eyebrow at him. "You saw Dirk again?" She gives a little gasp. "And?"

"... What do you mean "and"?" Jake gazes at her inquiringly. "We actually talked some this time. Not much to report. Why? Were you expecting something else?"

"No... Not exactly." She makes an indiscernable face and grabs Jake lightly by the forearm, tugging him over to a bench to sit down. "Look, Jakey. I got back in contact with Dirk a few days ago. He's got a load of money. He's not worrying over his older brother anymore. And he's done fighting over in Europe."

Jake peers at her through his spectacles, unsettled slightly by the mugginess of the night from the rain that morning. "Then, what's the problem...?"

"That's just it. I don't know." She gazes up at the falling sun, a rare frown upon her face. "He seemed really... off. Maybe it's from the war, I don't know. But he's never sounded so down before. I'm a little worried about him." That strikes him hard. Roxy is easily the most carefree, loose person he has ever met. If she's fretting over Dirk's wellbeing, then it must be pretty awful. "Just be careful about what you say to him, okay?"

Slowly, he nods, blinking as his eyes adjust to the descending darkness. "Sure thing, Roxy. He might be right bonkers, but I'll try my best. Promise." He makes a wily hand motion across his chest and gives a toothy smirk. "Cross my heart."

"And hope to die." She returns the gesture with a giggle and stands from the bench, giving him a brief hug. "Still don't wanna come drink with me?" He shoots her a furrowed brow. "Hahaha, okay, okay, just checking. See you~!"

With a final wave, she releases him and prances cheerily away into the nightlife of the town.

"She's crazy." He chances a small smile. Then again, how many people does he know who aren't out of their minds, to some extent? As he turns to walk back home, the blaring of big band music sweeps through the street, catching him slightly off guard, though he soon relaxes as he realizes its only the local nightclub (likely the one Roxy had mentioned earlier). Shaking his head, he heads out towards his house, whistling a little tune to himself as he walks. Mighty shame guns aren't permitted at work. He misses the old days of wielding those trusty pistols of his.

As he approaches his house once more, his mind makes note of the orange tint of his exterior paint job. Similar to Dirk's irises, he thinks with a small sigh. He feels proud for finally having discovered the true color of his new acquaintance's eyes, though now he's having significant trouble getting them out of his head. Perhaps it's only their peculiar hue. He really doesn't know anymore.

What is it Roxy had said...? Dirk sounds "off" to her? He wonders what that could possibly mean. Sure, Dirk is a bit odd, but is this not a regular thing? Perhaps Roxy's only delusional? Maybe she was drunk when she had spoken to him? Whatever the case, Jake hardly cares, and sits his Homberg back onto the coatrack. Whatever it is, something about Dirk chips away at his curiosity, and he'll be damned if he doesn't figure out what it is.  

And for the next year, Jake would make it a point to save a spot at the diner every Monday, on the dismal chance of seeing Strider's vivid eyes once more.

But Dirk would never again return.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song playing at the diner, "Far Away Places", is a real song, for anyone who cares. 
> 
> I swear, after this chapter, things will start happening, little by little. I'm still getting into the swing of writing Homestuck fanfiction.


	3. Chapter 3

The year is 1949.

The fresh scent of herbal tea wafts delectably into bared nostrils, earning a low, content sigh from a certain Jake English. He sits comfortably on the floor of his suburban home, idly watching the television fizz and crackle a bit as it tries to find a signal. Somewhere outside, he hears the faint sound of a Nat King Cole record stuck on repeat, likely from a neighbor, though it's muffled slightly by the sound of rolling thunder and pouring rain. As the sound pollution rattles his ears, he leans back and covers his head with a nearby blanket, sipping at his tea and making a face. An old friend of his had recommended that he try hot tea to help him sleep, and he himself can honestly say that it's one of the most repulsive beverages he has ever tasted; he sets it aside and sticks his tongue out in disgust.

Another day, another boring routine... At least he has today off at work. He honestly doesn't know if he could take another consistent day of factory business without some sort of break. Carelessly, he flops back onto the floor, tapping the glossy tiles with his fingertips.

It is, admittedly, a bit odd, being so downright bored after doing so much over the workweek.

"It's a real shame I don't have a telephone," he mumbles to himself, gazing up at the ceiling. "Can't even call up Jane." Ah, how awkward things between them have gotten as of late... In all technicality, they were "seeing each other", though he still cannot figure out for the life of him why. Roxy had insisted a few months ago that they hook up and go steady, but it hasn't worked out all that well for either of them. Jane has been quite preoccupied with the family bakery business, and Jake just... Doesn't feel any strong need for romance in his life right now. He sees Jane as a valued friend, but anything further just feels a bit alien to him. He mostly assumes that he just isn't cut out for romance, since most men his age were out marrying in almost no time at all, but hasn't let it molest him too much.

A booming roll of thunder sounds from the sky, making his house rattle and the tile vibrate beneath his body; a brief shiver tremors along his spine. "Some storm we're having. Blimey."

And here he is once again, muttering nonsense to himself in the solitude of his orange abode. Roxy is, much to his amazement, quite right about one thing: he really DOES need a pet or a hobby or something.

Then again, perhaps listening to the words of a normally-drunken woman isn't the best idea in the first place.

"Oh, who am I fooling?" He throws his arms up in defeat. "I'm just not-"

THUMP THUMP.

His ramblings are interrupted suddenly by the sound of a heavy knocking upon his door, catching him by surprise and causing him to flinch quickly upward. "Coming!" Hurriedly, he gets to his feet and, dusting himself off, opens the front door to find Jane standing contently on his porch. "Oh, good day, Jane."

"Hi, Jake." She blesses him with a small, dimpled smile, though the weariness is written all over her face in the form of vanilla frosting. "Can I come in? I know it's sudden, but golly, do I need your help..."

"Of course, come right in..." Raising a curious eyebrow at her, he steps aside and holds the door for her as she enters, taking her coat and hanging it up before shutting the door behind them. "So... What's the matter?"

"I mostly just needed your kitchen." She flies through said room in search of an apron as she breathlessly speaks. "I have a big order to fill and my oven broke this morning..."

Slipping the apron over her tiny form, Jane snatches up her trusty red stirring spoon and places it into a bowl, sifting through the pantry in search of the necessities. "Milk, eggs, flour... Oh no!" In her wild frenzy, she whirls around to look at Jake, who simply stands dawdling beside her, uncertain what exactly he should do. Baking has never been his forte. "Jake, do you not have any sugar?"

Lifting an eyebrow once more, he pushes lightly past her and fiddles around in a canister beside the sink. "... There's a little left in here, but not much..." He turns to peer out the window for a moment, catching sight of the whitening sky.  "Looks like the storm's clearing up. I can go get some if you'd like. That way you can stay here and get at least one cake done."

Though she looks ready to object, Jake throws on his coat and dons his usual hat, snatching up the umbrella beside the door. "... Okay, Jake, that's fine. Gee, thank you so much..." Sending him yet another of her small smiles, Jane returns to her work behind the counter.

"Be back in a little while," Jake calls, and, stepping outside into the cold, shuts the door behind him. Opening his umbrella, he props it up on his shoulder and begins the casual walk to the local supermarket. Though the building itself is still under experimentation, it certainly proves useful when needing something quick and simple. He can't help but hope that more go up in the future.

As he continues along the flooded sidewalk, a small hum rolls up from the depths of his throat, a tune familiar to him though he is not entirely sure what exactly it is. His hums get progressively louder, and soon sound out above the tapping of water droplets as they pelt his umbrella. No reason to be a sourpuss just because it's raining, he tells himself. He steps with a bit of a rhythm now, kicking up water from a few puddles and soaking his galoshes in slushy mud.

And yet, it is the most fun he's had in a long while. He honestly hasn't the mildest clue what brought on the sudden urge to act foolishly. Perhaps all of these days spent in a boring, routine situation were enough to make him break.

He gives one final hum, slides forward on his shoes, and sticks his hands out in front of him, mimicking two twin pistols with his fingers. "Bang! Ahahaha!" A heavy fit of laughter shakes his body. "Ahh..." He shuts his eyes and removes his glasses, wiping the grime and water from them with a cleaning cloth from his pocket. Rubbing the raindrops from his eyes, he slides his glasses back onto his nose and continues on, glancing up ahead at the walkway.

"... English?"

His stomach flips.

~*~*~*~

Out ahead on the sidewalk, sunglasses focused in on Jake with great intrigue, stands his old acquaintance Dirk Strider. His greased blonde hair is about a shade darker and drooping a bit from its sopping state. His clothes, oddly casual for a man out and about, are equally soaked, though he seems hardly bothered by this. In fact, he seems oblivious to all else happening around him; instead, his shades are focused intently at Jake's tanned face, and the latter can see the thin lines of Dirk's yellow brows rising above his glasses.

"C-Crikey..." Jake murmurs to himself, and, with a sudden flush of embarrassment, realizes that Dirk probably just witnessed his whole charade. Willing down the humiliation on his cheeks, he swallows and, albeit hesitant, continues on his way, approaching Dirk in the process and giving a short, acknowledging nod at him. "... 'ello, Strider."

He can feel Dirk's orange gaze bearing into his back as he passes and, sure enough, the brush of rough Strider fingers against the shoulder of his coat. "Jake." Jake gulps again and visibly winces. This guy smells strongly of oil and cologne, a combination that causes great grief to his poor nose. "Jake, hold on, would you?"

Sighing internally, he obliges and comes to a halt, peering back over his shoulder at Dirk. The man's eyes are veiled beneath his spectacles again. Jake's stomach tightens. The temptation to see those vivid eyes strikes him sharply, though he knows not entirely why.

Dirk's chapped winter lips part, seeming eager to say something, though he soon shuts them tight and turns his face down a bit. "... Uh. How's Roxy been?"

... That's it? That's all he has wanted to say? Jake is, to be frank, mildly confused. "She's... Fine..." Narrowing his green eyes at the blonde, he makes a small noise in the back of his throat. "... are YOU fine?"

At this, Dirk seems to have snapped out of whatever shell he had been slumped in minutes ago. He straightens up and gives that habitual shrug of the shoulders, raising his head in a confident, somewhat cocky manner. "Me? Never been finer. I'm finer than a marionette's rump on a hot summer evening, smelting in the bright sun." That comparison earns him an incredulous stare from Jake, which Dirk happily takes with a tiny sly smirk and a snort. "Been a while, huh, Jake?"

"Yeah... Sure has." As the rain begins to pick up once more, Jake realizes his rudeness and tries to position the umbrella a certain way to cover them both. Dirk simply pats Jake's hand away and stands contently out in the open rain, rather than having them share an umbrella. "Where've you been, by the way? Haven't seen you around the diner in over a year now, mate."

Clearing his throat, Dirk shrugs (again) and leans back against the wall of a small barber shop they were passing. "Moved to the other end of town. The diner wasn't... convenient." His face falls to their shoes for a moment, focusing intently on the puddles beneath their feet. After a minute, he stands upright again and approaches Jake, looking at him at eye-level despite the tanner man's inch-or-two height difference. They stand about two-and-a-half feet away from each other.  "Where are you going?"

"The supermarket. My gal's over having a baking crisis, and..." Jake chuckles lightly. "Ah, bet that sounds mighty wacky, huh? She's into baking. Family business, y'know." Why he tells this to a man he has met only two other times is beyond him, but being that Dirk is related to Roxy, perhaps he feels strangely comfortable doing so. 

At Jake's words, Dirk's lips give a brief, tightening twitch, though the former hardly notices, and thinks nothing of it. "... Sounds nice." Brows furrowing, the blonde suddenly pushes past Jake, forearms lightly brushing as they pass each other. He says no more and continues silently on his way.

What was that all about? Jake wonders in shock, and takes a few steps in Dirk's direction to inquire, though finds himself stopping short instead. Fine. If Dirk wants to be elusive and socially disturbing, let him. It's no business of Jake's, really. All he had done is try to have a civil conversation.

Readjusting the umbrella in his hands, he spins on his heel and walks onward. He needs to pick up sugar for Jane, and the supermarket is a mere road away. It takes five minutes to get there from where he started.

Thrice does he look back over his shoulder, but never does Dirk show his face.

~*~*~*~

It takes no time at all for Jake to locate and buy the sugar, and by the time he's finished, the rain has mostly stopped. As he grabs the bag of crushed sugarcane, the umbrella in his other hand begins to jostle, and winds up hitting the floor with an echoing clank. "Ah, bollocks..."

"I've got it." Jake freezes. Not again.

Sure enough, the infamous Dirk Strider suddenly stands right beside him, umbrella in hand and smug vacancy splattered across his face. "Dirk? What're YOU doing here?" The absolute disbelief must be practically dripping off of Jake's face, for Dirk  stifles back another snorty laugh. "Don't laugh at me, I'm serious!"

"Are you?" Smugly raising an eyebrow, Dirk tucks the closed umbrella under the crook of his arm and begins back toward the exit. "Come on, English.  I have some things to say. I don't think you want me to have Roxy relay this shit."

To this, Jake truly has nothing more to say. He doubts he would want Roxy relaying ANYTHING to him, let alone the bizarre things that come out of Dirk's mouth. "... Touché. Alright, alright. But we're walking home while we talk. Can't have Jane waiting any longer- she'll have my head!"

Dirk grunts drily in response, and grips the umbrella tighter, though makes no further action as they step back outside. "Right..." He falls into stride with Jake, careful to keep his distance, and takes his place between his companion and the curb as they walk.

"So." Jake turns his head slightly to peer at the blonde. "Why did you follow me all the way to the supermarket? Not gonna lie, old chap, that's a tad bit creepy."

"I like to think of it as "ironic"." Dirk straightens his posture a little and glances over at Jake as well.

Jake looks inquiringly at him. Well, irony isn't what he would call it, at all, but perhaps they have two different views on the subject. "Um, sure..."

They walk on like this for a few minutes, an awkward silence passing between them as they stroll. At last, Dirk breaks the silence by asking a casual question. "Jake?"

"Hm?"

"What the hell were you doing when I saw you earlier?"

At the mentioning of his humming charade, Jake's tan face turns faintly scarlet. So, he had seen that after all.... "A-Aha, nothing much. Just sort of got lost in the old noggin, that's all." He sighs in embarrassment. He knew someone would probably see him, but he never expected it to be someone he was actually familiar with. Better explain himself, he supposes. "I'm from this island in the Pacific, where there isn't really much civilization, so we had to learn to defend ourselves. I have these two pistols, and-"

He continues to ramble about his curious beginnings for quite sometime, even as they approach his pumpkin-esque house, and only silences himself when Dirk points out their arrival. "Ah, sorry, chum... Got carried away, didn't I?"

"Nah, it's cool." Handing off the umbrella, Dirk gives a little salute-esque wave to his companion and turns away. "See you around?"

"... Yeah... Bye." Tipping his hat at the blonde in farewell, Jake enters the house and, with one last glance at Dirk, shuts the door silently behind him.

"Ah, Jake! There you are, dear!" Jane desperately approaches the man and snatches the bag of sugar from him with a sense of urgency. "Thanks so much for doing this! Now I can keep baking... Jeepers, it's warm in here..."

"Only because you were baking so much."

"Oh, that can't be it!" Rolling her eyes lightly, Jane scoops out some of the sugar into a bowl, facing Jake all the while with a curious look on her features. "Hey, Jake? Is everything alright?"

This shakes him out of his prior daze. "Ah, yeah, I'm fine. Just kind of tired, that's all."

"And soaked. Silly goose." Sighing lightly, she pats him on the arm in a mock attack and returns to her work, stirring with the fervency of a batter witch on a mission.

Despite her touch, Jake does not so much as flinch. His eyes are far too busy gazing idly out the window, following the form of his Strider acquaintance as the man makes his way down the sidewalk and out of sight.

Needless to say, even if he remains unconscious of it, his thoughts are entirely elsewhere.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear feedback from you. Regardless, thanks for sticking by me, my readers~. :3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left comments. I appreciate them wholly and did use them for a few things here and there on the story. :)

Today will be the day, Jake tells himself with a hard swallow. Although he never believed the day would come, it has dawned upon him as inevitably as life or death itself.

Yes, today will be the day that Jake runs into Dirk on purpose.

"Jake, come on!"

Unfortunately, "on purpose" does not always equate to "willingly". 

A certain Lalonde girl pulls forcefully at his vest, stomping her heel childishly and casting a frustrated glare upon him. "He's the best person there is to do the job cheaply."

Hugging his television set tightly to his chest, Jake English tails behind her, a worried frown tarnishing his face. He probably looks mighty ridiculous, lugging around this clunky moving picture box, but that seems the least of his troubles right now. "I know, I know... Doesn't mean I like it."

She simply rolls her eyes at him as they continue along the dark sidewalk to the Strider household. "What's the biggie, dear? It's just Dirk."

"Just Dirk? The guy's positively bonkers!" A slight groan and a curse slip through his tight his lips as he hoists the television above his waist. "You have a car, don't you? Why couldn't we just take that?"

"It's getting repaired at the shop. Dirk's in charge of that too."

The two friends bicker and quarrel for quite some time before a massive taupe shape looms over the horizon, adorned with various windows and sandwiched tightly between two other tall structures. "Ah, there it is..." Roxy smiles, approaching the building with a skip in her step and a strange smile on her face.

Jake's legs halt suddenly, and his eyes gradually slide up and down the outfacing wall, which is littered with dusty windows and failing masonry. "... An apartment? I thought you said he was rich..."

"He practically is! He just likes keeping a low profile." Emphatically throwing her hands up in the air, the blonde walks over to the first set of stairs. "He's on the third floor."

At this, his face contorts into an expression of utter disbelief. "What? You expect me to climb three flights of stairs carrying a tele set in the Texas heat? Are you bloody mad too?"

"That's no way to speak to a lady."

This earns Roxy a snort. He truly detests when she plays the "I'm an innocent broad" card. "But-"

"I thought you liked a challenge, Mr. Adventurer!"

"... Just keep walking."

Snickering under her breath (though certainly loud enough for Jake to hear), Roxy lightly treads up the first flight of stairs, glancing back at him with a teasing yawn. "Should've called Jane instead. She could at least handle this much."

"This isn't even my television!" His brows knit together in the center of his forehead out of frustration. He doesn't believe he has ever met a woman with this much disrespect. How she still has a job is beyond him. "Are we almost there?"

"We're getting there."

Two flights of stairs (and an excessive amount of snide comebacks) later, the duo reaches Dirk's floor at long last; Roxy takes the lead again and knocks rapidly on the second door, in a rhythm unfamiliar to Jake but clearly shared between the two cousins.

A few minutes pass in awkward silence before the door swings open, and Dirk can be spotted in the doorway, His normally styled straw hair is matted oddly to the side, and his triangular glasses stand askew atop his nose; that familiar, thrilling rush strikes Jake at the rare sight of the man's deep orange irises peering up from beneath the shaded specs. In fact, despite that it is currently nine o' clock p.m., he wonders curiously if the Strider has even gotten out of bed today.

"... What are you doing here?" Dirk questions in a hoarse, groggy voice, affirming Jake's notion of him having been asleep mere moments ago. His sunset eyes drift between the two, settling briefly on the television. "Got it. Come in; give me a second."

Leading the way, Jake makes his way inside the small room, maneuvering around a few stray articles of clothing and puppets- yes, he's pretty certain those are puppets- that happen to be spread erratically across the floor. It's a simple place; definitely small, but, admittedly, not uncomfortably so. A few issues of Mystic Comics are sprawled across his work table (Jake notes his good taste in comic book heroes), beside some sort of peculiar mechanized object.

Sitting the television set aside, he reaches out to lightly prod the mechanical item, bright green eyes widening in intrigue. "Dirk?"

The blonde man, whose sunglasses have, quite strangely, now been removed entirely, peers over at Jake, gaze flitting between the man and the machine. "That's part of a personal project I'm working on. Careful around the side with the tubes. Those ends hurt like a bitch."

"... Right..." Whatever that means. Jake sits his Homburg on the table and brushes his fingertips along the outer rim of the curious object, a steady exhale fleeing his nostrils before he suddenly lights up in delight. "I didn't know you could build like this... Gadzooks, this is downright brilliant!" He isn't even sure what it's supposed to do in the end, yet the technology fascinates him to no end.

"You said the same thing when I showed you my radio, honey." Roxy gives him a light "pap" on the shoulder, shaking her head at him with a small smile.

Dirk's eyes linger on Jake a while longer before he speaks once more. "Hoping to make that thing move on its own eventually. Just waiting for the technology to catch up."

Tearing his googly-eyes from the interesting mechanism, Jake takes a seat on the floor, still grinning his goofy grin in amazement. "Why are you here, then, mate? I mean, golly, you could work for the government with your skills, making weapons or something... Dirk, you could send a man into space!" Okay, so perhaps that's blowing things a little out of proportion, but... But _space_! The final frontier! It's always been a fraction of a dream of Jake's, to venture out into the great black unknown. Who knows what all exists up above their heads? He relishes the idea with a happy sigh.

"Space? Keep dreaming, Jake. But I wouldn't last five minutes in our government system anyway." Dirk's voice has grown quiet, and his eyes gradually become more downcast. A frown pulls at his lips. "Not with scum like McCarthy hanging around."

"Dirk," Roxy chides him, a warning glance falling upon her cousin. It almost startles Jake to see her look so cautious and uncertain. "Careful." 

"... McCarthy?" Jake raises an eyebrow inquisitively at the Strider; as realization dawns upon him, it takes almost no time for his mouth to open wide in alarm. "Oh my gosh, Dirk! Are you... Are you a _communist_?"

The incredulous expressions on both of Dirk and Roxy's faces answer his suspiscion with a straightforward rendition of "hell no". Jake frowns. "Nothing would really surprise me at this point... Well, wait, then what-?"

"Alright, give it here." Motioning at the little television, Dirk steps over to the desk and takes the box in his hands, turning the dials a little. "What's wrong with it?"

As Roxy lists off its (seemingly endless) issues, Jake's attention flickers toward the peculiar mechanism once again, a renewed curiosity ebbing inside of him. What could Dirk be speaking of that's so unmentionably awful? This thing is, in all entirety, beyond Jake's comprehension.

Then again, he supposes with a bitter grunt, the same could be said for its creator.

"-and then? Poof!" Roxy's bellowing voice snaps him out of his drifting thoughts, and her arms fly through the air; never has Jake ever met another person who speaks with their hands more than Roxy Lalonde. "The thing goes out! Any ideas, Dirk?"

"Think so."  He runs his fingers back through his own blonde locks of hair, fiddling with a few strands as he scrutinizes the little picture box. Jake finds himself almost enraptured by the concentrated glint in Strider's bright eyes, and breaks his intense stare only as Dirk glances back upward. "Just leave it with me tonight."

Having meandered over to the kitchen area, Roxy pulls open the cupboard and starts probing the shelves with her hand. "Sounds good. Have anything to drink?"

"Gin and rum. That's it for now." He shakes his head at Roxy's antics and turns back to Jake, motioning to a screwdriver on the tabletop, which is nestled beneath a blue plush puppet. "Hand me the Phillips."

"Hm? Oh, this?" Picking the puppet up in his left hand, he grasps the screwdriver in his right and tosses it to Dirk. His gaze lowers to the plush in his hand, which he turns over a few times to examine; he squeezes its leg between his index finger and thumb with interest. "You sure seem to like puppets, eh?"

"As much as you like prancing out in the rain."

A loud noise erupts from within Jake, and Roxy gives a little giggle from behind her glass of rum. The brunette's cheeks immediately flush with heated humiliation. "... That's... I-"

"I'm just joking around. But yeah, I "like puppets"." The faintest curve of a smile hints itself upon Dirk's lips as he eyes that beet-red face with fervor.

Jake sits himself down again and releases a shaky sigh, willing the faint red on his cheeks to subside. "Ever watch _Kukla, Fran and Ollie_?"

"Sometimes. I'm normally pretty busy though. Television isn't much my style." Shrugging his shoulders, he begins unscrewing a small portion of the television box, lips pursed with what Jake assumes to be an innate sense of focus. "... And you?"

"I watch it if there's nothing else on. I mean, blimey, I really love a good program every now and then." His face lights up, a grin spreading like wildfire across his tanned mug. "I'm more partial to movies, myself, though."

This statement urges the blonde brow of a certain Strider to lift, thus allowing a glimmer of light to hit his vivid eye and brightening the hue tremendously. "Movies? Such as?"

Jake positively beams enthusiasm, the utter glee pouring out of him as though he has been punctured by thousands of tiny needles. "Pretty much anything! Casablanca was good, Adventures of Don Juan was, too.. Oh, Wizard of Oz! And-"

"Do you like drive-in movies?"

"Hm? I've never been to one." Jake exhales happily, an almost drunken cheeriness lingering in his eyes. "They sound bloody amazing though."

"... There's one out about an hour from here." Dirk swallows visibly, an indiscernable expression finding its way onto his face, and, though neither Jake nor Roxy notice, a faint scarlet creeps up under his freckled face. "I'll take you to it sometime. It's pretty cool."

"What? Really?" Jake jumps suddenly to his feet, a childlike excitement coursing through his veins. "Ah! You really are swell, old chum!" Unable to contain himself, he hurls himself forward, pulling Dirk into a tight (and rather unanticipated) hug, laughing giddily and withholding all prior restraints for the moment. The blonde man simply stands in absolute shock, jaw hanging slack and eyes strangely wide. In short, Dirk displays more emotion in this fractional span than he has since the ripe years of childhood. He soon realizes his lapse in said stoic tendencies and mellows out his face, though Jake can still feel Dirk's heart struggling feverishly against the containment of his ribs  (though he takes no notice of this in his enthralled state). The television is nestled somewhat uncomfortably between their mid-to-lower bodies, leaving Dirk enough room to eventually come to his senses and forcibly shove the other away with a single gloved hand.

Reading a bit further into the atmosphere, Roxy takes the initiative to grasp Jake lightly by the forearm and tug him toward the door. "Cummon, Jakey~" she slurs, sitting her glass of alcohol on the desk beside the doorway. "I shtill needja for some errdans. Eridans. Erra... Shtuff."

"But... Wha-?"

"Cummon, Jake!" she repeats, a bit more forcefully, and opens the door with surprising ease. "Buh-bye, Dirk!" Her magenta gaze falls upon her cousin briefly; their eyes meet, and within the orange pools of his irises, a look of knowing passes fleetingly between the two. It's hardly more evident than a pleading whisper, or a thankful sigh, but it's enough for her to catch and return with a single nod of the head before the door shuts behind her and her company.

Placing the television set aside, Dirk rises from his chair and meanders over toward the shut door, turning the lock tight and glancing nonchalantly down at the rum glass on the desk. Rolling his eyes, he takes the glass in his hands and promptly downs the remnants of the alcoholic beverage, sighing in blatant exasperation.

Out of his peripherals, he can't help but note the bottle of rum on the countertop. It's still mostly full.

Roxy had only taken one glass' worth.

Silently, he approaches the bottle and pours himself another glass, convulsing suddenly and giving a thick series of coughs. The fingers of his free hand slowly lift to his shoulder, where Jake's chin had been mere seconds prior.

"Of all things," he murmurs quietly, hoarsely, to himself, sipping carefully at his rum. "Jake English is going to be the death of me."

How bitterly ironic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Kukla, Ollie and Fran" = a show that began in the late 40s centered around ad-libbing and puppets. Started out as a children's show but appealed to many adults as well. Sort of like My Little Pony. Thus... Well, Dirk.


	5. Chapter 5

A season trickles past. What had been a strangely rainy autumn has since morphed into a chilly, dry winter. Life for our familiar Jake English has been, more or less, as uneventful as always, give or take a few degrees. He himself hasn't been adapting to the cold very well, as his own island hardly had a winter of any sort, and, while the Texan cold barely qualifies as true winter, it is still far more than he will ever be accustomed to.

He and Jane are still "going steady", if one can even call their relationship that. It still seems as sporadic as always, and Jake has seriously considered calling it off altogether, though can't quite find the heart to do so just yet. Well... and he assumes (correctly) that Roxy would kick his derierre into the next century if he attempts to so much as push her "BFFsie" (whatever that means) away with the prod of a fingertip.

And yes, he and Dirk have met, more or less intentionally, three times since that moment at the apartment.

"So..." Jake begins, leaning back on the palms of his hands. He and a certain Strider are simply and contently killing time one lazy Sunday afternoon, sitting in the middle of Jake's family room and snacking on some fresh cupcakes from Jane (she had baked five dozen for an event, only for it to be cancelled last-minute; thus, the majority has wound up in Jake's possession). "You have a brother, don't you?"

"Yeah." Dirk nods his head and grabs another pastry from the pan, taking a bite so large that the thick white icing sticks to his upper lip. He flicks his tongue out and licks it clean before wiping the rest carelessly on a handkerchief tied around his arm, out of plain sight. "Jane makes some pretty sweet cakes..."

"Mhmm, she really does!" Shooting Dirk that toothy smile of his, he takes another cupcake for himself, eyes darting to the side in thought. "But anyway, I was just asking. You never really mention your brother."

Dirk shrugs- Jake has gotten quite used to this habit, and gives a light chuckle every time he catches the blonde in the act. "Dave's one swell son of a bitch, I'll give him that much. I never really see him anymore though. He moved out west a few years ago."

"Huh." Grunting in response, Jake finishes off the cupcake in his hand before uttering a low groan, clutching at his abdomen in apparent discomfort. "Bloody... Urgh, I ate too much..."

A light chuckle shakes Dirk's body, which reacts with a faint, brief cough as he nearly chokes on his own sweet confection. The blonde readjusts his sunglasses and sits upright, prodding Jake's leg in boredom.

"Mrgh..." Jake's shut eyelids twitch, and he swats at Dirk's hand in mock-annoyance. "Bugger off, specs."

"You wear glasses too."

"Because my vision is awful." Sighing, Jake sits back up as well, removing his own glasses for a moment and blinking rapidly. "Yeah. You're a big blur right now." He slides the spectacles back up his nose. "Why DO you wear sunglasses all the time, anyway?"

"Strider eyes are sensitive to light," Dirk explains flatly, as though it's a blatantly obvious fact. "We all wear sunglasses all day, unless it's completely dark."

Jake can't help but roll his eyes slightly. Catching this, Dirk snorts and nudges his companion with his shoe. "It's true. Despite what YOU seem to think, I'm not a "wily loon"." He fixes his eyes, hidden beneath triangular shades, upon Jake's face.

 _Right_ , Jake thinks sarcastically. _And I'm not an English._ "You always do THAT too!"

Dirk's face remains as stoic as ever. "Always do what?"

"That staring!" He throws his hands up in emphasis. "I mean, golly, Dirk! It's a little perturbing sometimes."

As he makes his case, Jake settles his eyes on Dirk, and, though possibly of his own imagination, he swears he sees a faint pink hue in those pale cheeks of his. Dirk opens his mouth to speak, though has to think about it for a minute before responding. "Maybe I just like to look at your face."

At that sudden revelation, Jake's jade eyes widen slightly, though he thinks nothing much of what has been said. "Well, gosh, look all you want, but-"

"I missed Christmas, didn't I?" Dirk suddenly asks, diverting the previous topic altogether. His companion pulls a startled face, clearly noticing the quick change in topic. Strange, he muses, and studies Dirk's face a bit. Hmm. "... Jake?"

"A-Ah, yeah, you did..." he replies slowly, shutting the box of cupcakes. Something about Dirk seems greatly deterred... "But that was a month ago, so..."

"... Guess that means I owe you a gift." Clearing his throat, Dirk stands from his spot on the floor, eyes downcast and, as usual, shaded. His lips purse. "I'm heading out. See you around, "mate". Playfully ruffling Jake's hair- and allowing his fingers to linger for a moment longer than is socially acceptable- Dirk fixes his pale orange vest and slips his coat on.

"... Yeah... See ya."

Nodding once, Dirk turns, opens the door, and wordlessly takes his leave.

Though Jake accepts this farewell, he feels a mild confusion settling in, as happens so often when the blonde boy is around. Dirk's antics have never made any sense to him, and lately they have been, perhaps, even more bizarre.   Although hesitant, he brings an arm up and gingerly probes at his head with his fingers; his scalp had tingled something awful beneath Dirk's delicate touch. He lowers his hand and gazes down at it, grimacing a bit at its greasy state. Looks like it's time for another quick hair wash.

As he rises from the floor, Jake falters and bites back a groan of nausea. Okay, yes, he definitely ate too much. Shakily stepping forward, he stumbles over to the kitchen sink and turns the knob, knuckles growing white. He exhales lightly and removes his glasses, setting them gently aside on the countertop. As the water spurts from the spout, he dips his head forward beneath the faucet, the chilly winter water raising goosebumps along his neck. "Gosh, that's cold..." he mumbles, squeezing his eyes tighter as the icy droplets roll further down his face. He blindly gropes around for the shampoo bottle beneath the sink and, as it brushes against his fingertips, places it beside his glasses.

His thoughts, in time, begin to drift back to his newly-birthed friendship with Dirk, and how odd and spectacular it all truly is to him. Mere months ago, he hardly would have given the blonde a second glance, yet after a dismal number of run-ins, the two have been hitting it off impeccably well. As he squirts some of the shampoo into his palm, his lips purse and scoot a bit to the left of his face. His scalp still prickles slightly at the thought of Dirk's hand combing through his hair.

Scrubbing feverishly at his scalp, he froths up the shampoo and lathers his entire skull with the soapy substance. "Ack-! Ouch!" A few stray suds drip into his eyes, catching him by alarm and making him subconsciously pull his head up, knocking the back of his cranium on the overhanging faucet. He rubs at the tender spot, brows knitting together. That will definitely leave a bump... Bitterly, he washes out the rest of the shampoo and shuts off the faucet, reaching blindly behind him for the towel Jane had knitted him for his birthday. He pulls it close and wipes his face dry; he proceeds to then slide his specs back onto his nose and absently scrub at his scalp to towel-dry his untamed hair to the best of his ability.

"Jakeyyyyy~!" The ever-familiar voice of a certain Lalonde drifts into his watery ears. 

And it definitely isn't Rose.

Roxy Lalonde throws the door open, practically snapping it off of the hinges in the process. "Ahhhh, there you are, Jakey-darling~!" Loosening the pink striped scarf 'round her dainty neck, she hobbles over to the man and throws a casual arm across his shoulders, pulling him into a loose embrace.

Jake, in return, visibly winces. She positively reeks of alcohol. "Martinis?" Like there is any doubt.

"Oh, Jake, 'm not durnk. Drunk." She corrects herself before peering over at the kitchen countertop, spotting the box of fresh vanilla cupcakes with wide, glossy eyes. "Cakes?"

"Go ahead." His stomach gives a gurgle of protest at the mere idea of munching on another sugary confection.

She happily obliges. "Dun' mind if ah doooo~." Opening the decorated box, she removes a fluffy white cupcake from the top and sinks her teeth in, almost missing the pastry altogether and smearing frosting across her lower right cheek. "Mmmm~! Jane's cakes're the bessss-" A hiccup penetrates her lips, prompting a soprano giggle. "That's my Beef!"

... Beef? She's making even less sense than usual, a prospect that Jake can't help but shudder at. Smiling despite this, he pulls up a chair beside her and watches her eat, thoughts wandering. "Golly, Rox, better watch it. You could gain a few pounds, little missy."

Sticking her tongue out at him, she lightly smacks his shoulder and stumbles suddenly to the side, awkwardly falling into his lap with an OOF. "Puh-lease, Jakey-dear. You're the one who- hic- has-ah belly."

This earns a chuckle from them both. Roxy is a healthy weight, and while Jake does have more of a stomach, it's hardly enough to compare. And even so, he doesn't look particularly chubby, apart from maybe his face. "So did you come here for anything more than a cupcake?"

"Umm..." She taps an icing-dipped finger to her chin in concentrated thought. "Oh! I came'ta see if Dirk was arnoud. Aroud'n. Ar... Here."

"Nope. Old chum left a while ago." To ease them both, he readjusts his position in the chair and pulls Roxy's poodle skirt back down, as it had ridden up during her tumble, earning a small blush from Jake. "Why?"

"Needed'ta ashk him about something.  He wasn't home." She shrugs nonchalantly and curls her icing finger idly in her flippy blonde hair. "S'not really 'mportnat- important- anyway."

Rolling his eyes lightly at her drunken antics, he picks up the damp towel from his head and wipes the frosting from her face, sighing. He feels like a bloody housewife. "He still confuses me. A lot."

Roxy raises a trimmed blonde brow at him before absently pooching her lips out and gazing down in attempt to see her own mouth. "Why'zzat?"

"He just... Gosh, I don't even always know." His eyes falter as his thoughts drift. Roxy, meanwhile, stands from his lap and walks over to the radio, turning it on and fiddling with the dials. "He always touches my hair, for one thing. And he's always looking at me like I have yellow eyes and horns or something. I don't think the bloke even realizes how peculiar he really is."

As he silences himself to his own thoughts, Roxy turns slowly toward him, fingers leaving the radio dials and instead resting over her little pink mouth. "... Ohmigosh, Jake!" Her curiously-colored eyes widen in realization. "You mean y'haven' figured it ou' yet? He's-"

The radio suddenly spurts, and the news returns, booming out from the little rectangular radio beside her.

" _President Truman has announced to the public that plans for a new "superbomb" are currently underway. When asked about this weapon-_ "

Jake reaches past her and turns the radio off, frowning a bit in distaste. The woman beside him blinks blankly at him a few times. "Wonder if we'll ever be'in a real war wit' 'em..." 

"Let's hope not..." Lightly, he shoves the radio aside and turns back toward Roxy, standing up from his seat and offering the chair to her politely; she happily complies. "Now what was that about Dirk?"

"... Huh?"

"You said I didn't know something."

A look of realization crosses her face slowly, and her expression instantly brightens. "O-Oh! Silly Jake, I only mean' tha' you dunno... Uh, Dirk really likes ponies!"

Incredulity slaps itself across Jake's features, and his glasses slip askew down the bridge of his nose. He casts her a startled, long stare.  "... _What?_ "

"Ah. Yesh, ponies! He really, really lurrrrves horsies." She flaps her hand at him, laughing an obnoxious, artificial chirp. "W-Well, I oughta go find Dirky, so- hic- bye!"

His eyes widen. "Wait, Roxy...?" But she hardly listens, and instead snatches up the cupcake box and meanders toward the door. He hardly has time to step forward before she's disappeared into the chilly evening, all in all out of sight.

... What the devil was _that_ all about? He pushes his glasses back up his nose and continues to stare at the door for a bit, lost in thought and generally more befuddled than usual.

... Ponies?

Well, needless to say, there is obviously more to Dirk Strider's inner workings than he has ever realized before.  The man is, perhaps, even more intriguing than ever before in Jake's eyes, and his inner adventurer strives for the unveiling of Dirk's every last quirk.

Then again, why rush? The two have become decently friendly over these months, and are slowly opening up more and more to one another. And... Well, it would be uncouth to pry like that. Granted, that's hardly stopped him before, but... Maybe he would only resort to extreme islander methods in the worst situation, whatever he may deem that to be.

After all, he tells himself, they have all of the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this chapter much. Ah well. They should start to pick up from here on out.  
> Thanks to everyone who left praise and kudos, as always. Love you guys. ;w;
> 
> Next chapter, you can expect a smidgen more of Jane and more of Dirk, to an extent.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the support. You all are splendid. <3  
> This chapter was originally supposed to be two, but I wound up combining them and cutting the second one short. So, sorry if portions seem awkwardly placed. I tried. :|

"Jake! Over here!" A rather perky Jane Crocker can be seen frivolously swinging her arms through the air, trying in vain to capture the attention of her near-male-sweetheart. Unfortunately, as she beats her heel against the concrete, she remains unnoticed by Jake in the distance, who seems preoccupied and lost in his own little world, as per usual. She can't help the tiny giggle that tickles at her throat as, in a clear daydream, he stumbles directly into another man, who gruffly dismisses the younger male with a simple wave of his gloved hand. 

Apologizing hurriedly, Jake rushes past him with a wince, readjusting his lopsided hat and proceeding ahead, spotting Jane in the distance at last. "Jane!" he calls, meeting her bubbly gaze almost immediately. The midday sun above casts a heavy light upon her and, while it's still moderately cold out, she practically oozes warmth and friendliness, as she so often does when happy. Really, he can hardly remember a time when Jane has ever been infuriated with anyone... Or even dismally angry. She just isn't the type, he supposes. "Good day, Jane."

"Hello, Jake." She graces him with a smile, smoothing out her long skirt with quick hands as the wind begins to pick up. "Ready to go?"

"Sure am." He smiles in return, and despite his opinions about their fading romance, can't help but admire her. She truly is a pretty gal, and mighty sweet, and any decent man is plenty deserving of her. It really is a shame that things haven't been too romantic between them, but perhaps it's meant to be this way. "Gosh, I'm famished... Want to grab a bite to eat first?"

"Sure.  Sounds swell." Though hesitant, she reaches over with a faint blush and weaves her fingers through his, tightly gripping his hand.  "Where did you want to go?"

Jake shrugs his shoulders, holding her hand in return, though cannot shake the discomfort in his stomach. This just... Doesn't feel quite right. "There's a pizza parlour down the road..."

Jane simply gives a little nod at the idea, studying his face for a minute with a saddened smile forming on her lips. "... You still don't think we're right for each other, do you?"

Wincing at her words, he holds his tongue for a moment and mulls over the right words to say. Or, as right as the words can ever be when breaking up with somebody you still care about. "Er, I don't-"

"Oh, phooey, Jake." She lightly smacks his arm. "I know you better than that. Please just be honest with me."

His eyes flit down to his black oxfords. "... No, I don't think it was meant to be." A low exhale slips through his lips. Even if it feels wrong to have just declared that to her face, he must admit that getting it off of his chest is incredibly relieving. He gradually lifts his eyes up again, meeting her gaze which, to his surprise, looks pained, but not immensely so.

"I kind of expected as much." She intakes a large breath and releases it, peering up at the taller man with a small smile before pulling him suddenly into a brief yet tight hug. "Golly, I'm hungry too... Still want to get some pizza?"

Chuckling at her, he nods his head and suddenly lifts her up into the air, arms still around her middle. The two laugh harder still, completely ignoring the dumbstruck stares of the many people passing them on the sidewalk. Wriggling free of his hold, Jane straightens her clothes again and tones down her incessant laughing, though the large, buck-toothed smile on her face fails to falter in the slightest.

"Pizza sounds brilliant." Returning the smile (for truly, their mouths are oddly similar), he takes her by the arm and starts walking again, chitchatting all the way to the pizza parlour.

~*~*~*~

"Bye, Jake."

"So long." As the vivid evening sky descends upon their small suburbian town, Jake parts from Jane at last. Their friendship has, in Jake's mind, been their saving grace through these romantic troubles, for the two have both been just as chipper and kind toward one another as they had prior to trying out romance. That break up could not have gone any better. 

To be frank, Jake is feeling astoundingly good right now.

The evening sky begins to darken and saturate, twisting into a rusty orange with a brilliant swirl of pale pink which Jake can't help but admire as he walks home. It's been a rather lovely day, really, and this beautiful masterpiece lingering above his head simply takes his breath away. "It'd be a good day to go exploring, back at home..." he mumbles to himself, turning the corner and spotting his pumpkin house in the distance.

He really should give that old home a new paint job one of these days.

Softly humming to himself, Jake reaches a hand down into his overcoat pocket and withdraws the house key, fingering it absently as he approaches the front door. Still humming that familiar tune, he unlocks the door and pushes on the handle, entering the abode and concluding his hummed song with a snarky smirk. Shutting the door behind him, he hangs up his coat and hat and turns back around, taking a single step into the living room.

"B-Bloody hell!"

He stumbles suddenly, eyes wide and gawking at the lump of a man snoozing away on his sofa. A crimson-dappled handkerchief lies in a crumpled state at the foot of the couch, and excess blood droplets can be seen, crusty and brown, scattered across the intruder's face and fingers. His coat has been discarded and tossed across the room; its contents, which include another three (clean) handkerchiefs and a bottle of medication, have fallen out and dispersed across the tile near the article of clothing. The man's sunglasses are nestled atop the coffee table beside the sofa, a pair of shades that Jake knows only too well. 

Dirk Strider.

"Oh God... Oh, blimey, chum..." Hurriedly, Jake approaches the couch and checks the man for a pulse, limbs trembling beyond his control. Placing his fingers to Dirk's neck, he is struck relentlessly by a strong pumping beneath the soft white skin, and a steady sigh slips through his open mouth. He soon notices the rhythmic rise and fall of his friend's chest, and slowly retracts his hand from that fragile neck.

 _He's only sleeping..._  Jake gradually slides back onto the floor, trying breathlessly to still his palpitating heart. Eyeing the bloody handkerchief on the floor, he gingerly prods it with a finger, shuddering. Unlike Dirk's face and hand, it is still a bit wet. "What on earth...?" he murmurs to himself, peering back at the disregarded coat. At least he isn't bleeding anymore...

 _How did he even get in the house? I never gave him a key..._ In fact, the only people who have keys to his house are himself and Roxy-

Oh.

Well, okay, that might explain one thing. But an array of questions are still rapidly flitting through his mind; hopefully Dirk awakens soon to expose himself fully. Jake has had quite enough of the recurring "irony" excuses. Those surely aren't going to cut it this time. 

The blonde gives a low gurgle in his sleep and turns onto his side, curling his knees up closer to his stomach and looking quite akin to a sleeping cat. Jake's careful green gaze casts itself upon his companion, taking a brief moment to look the man over. He is clad in a simple white undershirt and black dress pants; his socks and shoes have been kicked aside, leaving his bare toes curling coldly in his sleepy state. His hair is as styled as it always is, though smushed up messily against the seat cushion. His eyes, bereft of their typical pointy shades, are shut peacefully over those curious orange eyes of his, face contorted into occasional agony, as his brows furrow and his forehead wrinkles.

Jake's eyes slowly trace the frame of his body, swallowing uncomfortably at the frailty it conveys to him. "By jove, he's a gangly bloke..." he whispers under his breath, frowning. Then again, Dirk seems to often gain or lose ten or twenty pounds somehow, off and on, so perhaps his bony body is at the lower end of his typical weight scale right now.

A faint heat arises in Jake's cheeks. He always chastises Dirk for staring at him, yet here he sits, watching the man like a hungry wolf as he sleeps.  Tearing his eyes away, he spots a quilt beneath the couch, knitted for him by his grandmother back on their island. It has served him well on a-many outings, both here and back home.

He gingerly tugs it out and runs the fabric through his fingers, frowning at the few stray holes that have opened up over the years. Rubbing tiredly at his eyes, Jake stands shakily from his spot on the floor, reaching forward and draping the quilt carefully over Dirk's snoozing form. 

"Goodnight, old chap."

A low yawn of his own lets itself loose, and it isn't long before Jake himself is strolling down to his own bedroom in utter exhaustion.

However, needless to say, it is bound to be an ever-restless night.

~*~*~*~

Jake is aroused from sleep by the luscious scent of frying bacon.

After such a troubling evening the night before, he can honestly say that he hasn't expected anything pleasant to greet him with the sun the following morning. As his eyelids part to a blurry vision of his decked-out bedroom, Jake English gropes around, half-asleep, for his specs, and slips them slowly up his nose. Blinking the crusty sleep from his eyes, he sits himself gradually upright and inhales deeply, smacking his lips and giving a worn out groan.

 _Bacon...?_ Silently scooting to the edge of the mattress, he slides off the bed and, dragging his bare feet along the wood, trudges into the hall and out toward the living room. He catches a glimpse of the sofa, which has been abandoned from the night before, and only the familiar lavender quilt of his grandma's remains folded neatly atop the seat. "Dirk!" he realizes at last, fingers quivering at his side from the sight of the coat still laying on the floor. Where has the strange man gone...?

"Yeah?" A voice calls to him hoarsely from the kitchen over the distant sound of sizzling meat.  
Jake rushes into the kitchen and nearly falls to his knees at the bizarre sight gracing him.

There before his stove stands Dirk Strider, sunglasses and all, looming over the stove with a frying pan ready in hand. With his back facing Jake, he grabs the towel and wipes up some stray grease that has flicked onto the countertop, not so much as wincing when a droplet pops out and scalds his freckled arm. Four strips of bacon sit frying in the pan, with a few more finished strips scattered in a pile on a nearby plate.

"Dirk!" Jake shakes his head to and fro, eyes large and gaping and incredulous. "What-? You... What are you're doing?"

Dirk makes no effort to  acknowledge that he has even heard Jake, and instead continues to fry up the bacon, flipping the slices over a few times before carefully scooping them onto a second platter. "Made some bacon. Pull up a chair."

Although reluctant, Jake slowly complies and sits himself down at the kitchen table, warily eyeing Dirk's back as the blonde sets one of the ceramic plates in front of him. He timidly reaches a hand forward and picks up a slice, nibbling on the end and lighting up almost instantly. By golly, this is some splendid bacon! But despite his salivating gums, he feels complied to get to the bottom of all of this mayhem. "Dirk?"

"Yeah?" Dirk repeats, pushing those (godforsaken) sunglasses back up his nose and taking a seat beside Jake.

"... Look, chum," Jake begins, peering over at the Strider man with a small frown. "There's a lot we need to talk about. I have to go to work in an hour, but I'm going to hear you out as much as I-"

"Spit it out." Dirk's intense glare is, strangely, directed at his pork, which he has not so much as touched.

Jake's eyes narrow slightly. Dirk has not looked his way this entire morning, and considering how much he normally stares at the adventurer, something is undeniably going to be wrong. "Okay, first off: how did you get into my house?"

"Roxy gave me her key on Saturday."

"Why were you even _in_ my house?"

"Because shit was going down."

An irritated groan gurgles within Jake's throat. This isn't getting them anywhere, and that's enough to drive him absolutely bonkers. "I'm actually being serious right now, Dirk!"

"So am I."

 "Okay, why did you show up _bleeding_?"

"I have sinusitis."

"... What?"

"I get chronic nosebleeds." Snorting lightly, Dirk finally gnaws at the end of a strip of bacon, still averting Jake's eyes at all cost. "It happens a lot. Those pills in my coat? They're supposed to help with that stuff."

As the truth finally settles in, the ever-familiar heat rises in Jake's face as he realizes his overreaction. So Dirk had been having a nosebleed, and stopped at Jake's house until it subsided. Then he wound up falling asleep somehow. It all, more or less, makes greater sense now, and he can't shake the shame churning in his abdomen. "... oh. Anything else I should know about? Deep secrets or anything?"

At last, Dirk's neck turns ever-so-slightly toward him, and the blonde softly, subtly, bites his lower lip. "... Nope. I'm a pretty fucked up guy, but..."

A quivering sigh passes Jake's lips, and he takes another quick bite of bacon to mask his uneasiness as he tries to shake his embarrassment. "Well, good. Dang nabbit, Dirk." He sighs again, a tiny, troubled smile upon his face. "You really had me worried last night, mate. Thought you had TB or internal bleeding or something."

The slice of pork in Dirk's hand drops gently to his plate, and he now meets Jake's eyes with that intense (though ever-hidden) stare that the latter has grown so familiar with. When he speaks, his voice catches once, briefly, causing his smooth Texan drawl to falter a bit. "You were that worried about me?"

"Of course I was!" Finishing off his bacon, Jake wipes his fingers clean and peers absently back at Dirk's intent eyes. "You're my best pal, Dirk. Somehow, you've come to be important to me, you know? I mean, as much as Jane or Roxy ha..."

Jake finds his voice fading in his throat, jaw dangling slack as a pair of stark, skinny hands drift up to his face. Fingertips carefully, reluctantly, drift over his face, one over his left cheek and the other resting along the right side of his jaw. His eyes flit this way and that; he can feel his heart throbbing wildly in the base of his throat. The invading hands hesitantly linger a moment more, and, curling a little at the tips, those fingers uncertainly tug Jake's head forward. 

When did Dirk's face get so close...?

At last, as his senses come flooding back to him, Jake hurriedly lifts his arms and shoves Dirk away (perhaps a bit too roughly). His face contorts into a twisted sort of dubiety, cheeks faintly red and eyes gaping wide. "What...? What was _that_?"

"I was going to kiss you." Dirk shrugs and leans back in his seat rather nonchalantly, as if he hasn't just announced something completely taboo for the era in which they live.

Jake's jaw drops lower. "You... what?"

"Thought that was pretty obvious."

"So..." Shaking his head, Jake lowers his burning cheeks onto his palms, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "... you're a co- a homosexual...?"

Dirk's voice has grown quieter, but he still says every last word with the utmost confidence, as though he isn't implying his adoration in the slightest. "I'm whatever kind of 'sexual' you want me to be, English."

"Please, stop that..." His voice lowers, and the shock in his eyes slowly fades to melancholy. Hunching his back, he places his hands in his lap, clenching them on occasion as he tries desperately to sort out this situation. Finally, after an awkward silence has settled in, he speaks. "Strider, grab your things and get out of here. I... I need some time to think."

Dirk's indifferent expression does not falter, though a mild frown tugs subtly at his lips. Nodding once, he rises from his seat at the table and strolls over to his coat with that cool gait of his. He stuffs his pills and cloths into the inside pocket and slips it over his shoulders. As he approaches the front door, his face turns briefly back toward Jake, who is now watching him more warily than ever before, as if he expects to be sprung upon and ravished at the simple blink of an eye. Giving a light roll of the eyes, Dirk pulls on the handle, opens the door, and wordlessly makes his exit.

The moment the door clicks shut, Jake releases a trembling sigh, swallowing down a hard lump in his throat.

Yes, he is _definitely_ going to need some time to think this over.


	7. Chapter 7

What... just happened...?

Dirk just tried to kiss him.

Dirk.

Dirk Bloody Strider.

Almost _kissed_ him.

As Jake sits at the table, plates of bacon long since shoved carelessly aside, his thoughts ricochet this way and that off of his cranium. His eyes are wide and horrified, brows curling slowly upward in a deepening worry. A heavy frown has grown on his lips, which are now drying out continuously from fretting so (to the point that Jake's tongue subconsciously darts out to remoisten them on occasion).

What is he to do?

The more he sits and ponders, the more sense it makes. Come to think of it, Dirk has been dropping not-so-subtle hints for quite some time... he daresay since they first met. The staring, the touching, the teasing... Oh, he has been absolutely adamant about hinting at attraction here and there, yet Jake has remained entirely oblivious of it until this day... It's almost enough to make the islander sick.

He loves a good adventure as much as the next guy, but this situation is, admittedly, unpleasantly foreign.

He catches a glimpse of the clock on the wall; work will be starting soon. However unwilling, there is no chance of him missing work; he can't afford any more time off. Still lost in his own thoughts, Jake stands from the chair and begins the walk down the hall which, although short, seems to him like a mile.

"Well," he mumbles to himself, voice unsteady as he tries desperately to penetrate the sour lump in his throat. "I don't really mind one way or another that he's not heterosexual... It's a little weird and all, but it's nothing I won't get used to." He's adapted to a lot of things since moving to the United States; this will simply have to be another one. Golly, though... Being homosexual in this time must be rough. Why, homosexuality has been nearly as taboo as communism (minus the threat of nuclear war), so it's plain and simple why Dirk had chosen to keep quiet about it.

Suddenly, that comment about not wanting a government job makes all too much sense.

Of course. McCarthy and his posse have been weeding out "commie bastards" and "cocksuckers" for quite some time now. Even without that man, being openly gay with anyone publicly is considered sinful and Un-American, and is bound to send you into a poor slump.

As he begins to dress himself for work, his startled expression starts faltering into something entirely different. A wave a pity washes over him, and he realizes for the first time how lost Dirk must feel. Oh, the blonde will deny any implication of weakness or emotion, but nobody can possibly be indifferent about being denied so much because of something out of their control.

But then, suppose it _is_ controllable? Dirk has rebelled in so many ranging aspects, both small and large, of common life... Well, what if it is something Dirk can deny himself of? Never having known a semi-open homosexual before, he really cannot say anything certainly regarding the science behind it.

Blimey, this is giving him a headache...

Now entirely clothed, Jake side-steps into the master bathroom, glancing at his face in the mirror. He looks like a wreck, really, and it's no wonder.  Sharply taking in a breath, he reaches up and tenuously brushes his fingertips along his jawbone, where Dirk had lingered before attempting to kiss him. Goosebumps rise along his caramel skin; a quiver shudders through his body. His eyelids clench tight, and he roughly shakes his head.

However right that had felt, he knows inside that it is far more wrong than most of the things considered uncouth in this world.

Tearing his arm down to his side, he finishes gussying up and slips on his shoes, donning his familiar Homburg which, unfortunately, looks like it will need replacing soon. He meanders down the hallway and toward the front door, mind still entirely elsewhere.

But enough of Dirk. How about himself? Where does he, as the apparent love interest of our strange Strider, stand amidst this turmoil? He has always thought of himself as straight. He finds girls attractive; why, just yesterday he had spotted a lovely dame garbed in deep blue who had sent his heart aflutter. That being said, is it possible at all that he has any inkling of adoration toward Dirk? Why, can a person even _be_ interested in both sexes? He doesn't see why not.

But who says he even IS attracted to Dirk?

He makes his way out the door and proceeds to walk onward.

Does he even find Dirk physically appealing? His hair is peculiarly styled, his skin is incredibly pale and freckly, and he apparently has some sort of weight-gain-and-loss disorder. Not to mention that strange sinusitis he mentioned.

No, Jake tells him self with assurance, he most definitely does not find him attractive. Nevermind that troubled blush, or those subtle lip quirks, or those bloody _brilliant_ orange eyes... Those are all ignorable. Sure.

... W-Well, then, how about his personality?  Is there anything remotely unique about him? Maybe "unique" is the wrong word, for Dirk is undeniably _unique_. Is anything about Dirk's personality pleasant to Jake? Let's see... Well, he's pretty cool, yes. But he has this weird obsession with puppets. He has a knack for tinkering... But he drinks coffee over ice. He is quite stoic, almost all of the time...

... But he seems to have quite an infatuation with a certain Jake English.

... Is that a pro or a con...?

He doesn't even know anymore. This entire situation is enough to clutter his mind and generally cloud his sense of right and wrong and everything that makes him Jake English.

As bizarre as it is for him to admit, Jake believes a nice day, busily working away at the factory, is in order. Anything else to enrapture his mind.

Maybe Roxy will know what to do.

~*~*~*~

Yet, much to his dismay, Roxy does not show up today for work. He can't recall her ever taking time off before... The one day he needs ("romantic"?) advice, his best friend is, regrettably, MIA. Then again, does she even know that Dirk is...? It's entirely possible that she doesn't, he supposes... 

Hm.

The work day proves just as lackluster and monotonous as always, and even in the peak of their labor, he is unable to shake this morning's happenings from his thoughts. These questions swimming 'round wily in his head simply won't stay put, and by the end of the day, he cannot remember ever having had such a gargantuan headache before.  What's worse, the subject is so forbidden in regular conversation that he is restrained from even discussing it thoroughly with someone at work. He hasn't anyone to go to.

His only real hope is Roxy, and even her status is uncertain at best. Does she even know about Dirk's affections for him? If she does, surely she hasn't found it as disgusting as so many people apparently do? Otherwise, he reckons she might have cut ties with him long ago.

... Did he, himself, feel outraged, or disgusted, in any way, about being the target of a blonde homosexual's love? It's a little unsettling, and the thought makes his face go red with embarrassed heat, yet... The fact of the matter is that he simply isn't repulsed by this situation, surprising even himself. 

Perhaps he isn't as mortified as he initially thought.

That isn't to say that he whole-heartedly returns Dirk's affections, as he still cannot envision the blonde on anything more than a friendly level, but, hopefully, the two will at least remain on friendly terms.

Though, he admits with a grimace, it might prove difficult for Dirk to shake his adoration for Jake, which could make things incredibly awkward for a while...

Or maybe Dirk isn't as smitten as he thinks. Maybe it will fade out after a short period of time, and the two can return to their familiar lives.

Regardless, by the end of the workday, Jake English is worn out in more ways than one. Lightly brushing a hand through his hair, he exits the building and steps out into the night, shuddering as a chilly breeze picks up and nearly blows his beloved hat away. He peers ahead, making note of the small comic shop down the road from the factory. A large, hand-made sign dangles in the window; it reads "issue 75 of Captain America Comics on sale now".

Jake's jaw drops, and his face lights up in pure delight. Captain America has always been an entertaining read, and this is the lastest comic to have been released from Timely, back in February. Sheer delight is written all over his face as he excitedly hurries down the sidewalk, all prior fretting cast aside for the time being.

As he approaches the store, he presses his nose and palms eagerly to the glass, looking quite akin to a child in a shop of cardboard boxes and yo-yos.  "Gadzooks, there it is...!" he breathes, giggling giddily to himself. He hurriedly walks over to the door and pulls it open, snatching up the comic and flipping through it nonchalantly once or twice. Yes, this will definitely get his mind off of these turmoils, if only for a short while. It's still better than nothing, right? Pulling out his wallet, he snappily makes his purchase and all but breaks the door down in his spontaneous enthusiasm.

"Gosh, I can't wait to read this...!" Holding it tightly to his chest, Jake rushes down the walkway, dodging a minimal number of civilians, considering the falling night that lingers above. It is not long before he reaches his own pumpkin household, comic book nestled snuggly in the crook of his elbow. Fiddling with the keys, he hastily unlocks the door and throws it open, shutting it behind him and stripping his coat and hat off as usual.

He plops himself down on the couch and flips the comic book open, fingers quivering with ecstasy. Here goes nothing.

The comic book lasts him about fifteen minutes. It isn't long at all until he is back in his previous slump, head mercilessly throbbing and book sat aside for the time being.

He's going to need to give Dirk an answer eventually.

A bitterness settles in his stomach. What to do...? He could tell the blonde off, maybe... Or just ignore the fact that anything even happened between them. He could also accept, but his lack of love for the other man sort of prevents that.

"No matter what, I'll come out of this as the bad guy..."

A low moan of exasperation slips past his lips. Why can't he live on his island again? He'd sooner deal with wild animals and his curious grandmother than with more domestic troubles such as these.

A sudden ringing startles him out of his prior state. Rising to his feet, Jake walks over to the desk and picks up the clunky black phone (he had been given one as a gift for his birthday a few months ago) holding it up to his ear. "'ello?"

"Jake, get over here now."

"... Dirk?" Oh, crikey, no. He can't deal with this right now; he debates whether or not to hang up right here and now. "What's... What's going on, chum?"

"Roxy's finally snapped. Come to my apartment as soon as you can."

The line goes dead on the other end.

"Roxy's... "snapped"?" What could that imply? Maybe she's having alcohol withdrawal or something. Nonetheless, it's probably best that he gets there as soon as possible. Even if it means facing Dirk, he isn't going to chicken out at this. Darn it all, he's an English; he is going to face his problem head-on and take it by the horns.

Gently setting the phone back down, he hastens over to the coatrack and slips on his coat and hat. Pulling the door open, Jake wordlessly makes his exit.

On the walk, however, most of his time is spent contemplating everything more and more until he feels his head will explode. One thing is still bothering him to an exceptional extent, and it's an aspect that makes him slightly nauseous to think about.

If he truly doesn't hold some sort of affection for Dirk, then why is it that he has wasted so many hours thinking about this?

But... Surely not. He hasn't any emotions of that sort for the blonde. It just isn't possible. He doesn't go weak at the knees upon the sight of that freckled mug. He doesn't get a fluttery feeling in his gut at that sultry Texan drawl. He doesn't even notice those brilliant orange irises, and he certainly doesn't wish Dirk would wear sunglasses less frequently.

All the same, Jake feels like he's lying through his teeth, and this is perhaps what perturbs him the most. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *EDIT- Many of Jake's thoughts about McCarthy and the taboo status of homosexuality are centered around my findings about the Lavender Scare. This happened around the same time as the Red Scare and essentially applied to the gay community. 
> 
> *Timely Comics- the predecessor to Marvel comics. Existed until mid-1950. "Captain America Comics" was a series featuring Captain America, as well as a number of other pre-Marvel characters. Unfortunately, Mystique and The Hulk have not come to be yet. ;]
> 
> Please keep the feedback coming~. I'd love to hear from you. Both praise and critique are appreciated.


	8. Chapter 8

It is, perhaps, a fifteen minute walk, and all the while he finds his mind overflowing with those uncontrollable thoughts and inquiries that have overwhelmed him for hours on end.

All he wants right now is to avoid Dirk and straighten out his emotions. Clearly, fate would rather see him suffer.

Ah, who is he fooling? He's an English! Subconsciously or not, he probably seeks out these thrills and perils for the sole purpose of excitement. Dirk Strider is simply the latest beast to come at him, canines bared and ready to strike, and he best have his twin pistols poised.

As the apartment comes into view, Jake spots Roxy's little black car in the parking lot and releases a small sigh of relief. Well, at least this means Roxy is somewhere in the vicinity, and Dirk (probably) isn't pulling his leg. Shaking the turmoil from his head, Jake approaches the stairwell and begins to climb, hesitantly making it up to Dirk's floor.

Well, there's no turning back now, right? He must be prepared for the two greatest extremes; he stands back a bit after knocking on the door to avoid any possible punches or smooches from anyone who might be in this living space.

Much to his surprise, the door creaks open to reveal a certain Ms. Crocker, face wrought with weariness and eyes soft with a wave of relief.  "Jake! Oh gracious me, I'm so glad you're here..."

A knot of anxiety strikes his stomach. Between the apparent Roxy situation and the simmering Dirk tension, he very well may lose his life in this room.

Grandma help him.

He steps after Jane as she enters the room, eyeing the group almost immediately. Roxy is lying fast asleep on the sofa, a near-empty glass of vodka sitting upon the tabletop beside her. A strawberry cupcake sits half-eaten on the table beside the vodka, along with a few wrinkly (and clean) handkerchiefs which Jake recognizes as Dirk's. A few feet away, sitting on the synthetic floor, is the aforementioned Strider, eyes fixated intently on a mechanism in his hands, which he tinkers with presently by means of a screwdriver. His shades, despite the dark atmosphere of the living area, remain sitting atop his nose; if Dirk's eyes land on him, he cannot tell, but he does not once make an effort to turn his face up to the adventurer. Jake turns back toward Jane with an inquisitively-cocked eyebrow. "... What's going on? She wasn't at the factory today either."

Her pale blue eyes drift over to Roxy's snoozing form, and a tiny frown appears on her lips. "The company let Roxy go this morning."

Jake's eyes widen, and he steps over toward the couch, watching Roxy as she rolls over and mumbles something incoherent in her slumber. "Really? Why?"

"Because she's a woman." Dirk still does not lift his head from his work. He shakily sits the screwdriver aside and grabs the wrench near his left thigh. "I'm surprised she lasted this long."

Jake winces. Dirk's tone of voice is tainted by a subtle bitterness, and he can't help but wonder if it's due to himself or due to Roxy. "That's true..." Poor Roxy. It's no wonder she's so upset. She lives alone, she's single, she has a drinking problem, and she's a woman. Her only living relative, apart from Dirk, is Rose (and Jake isn't even entirely certain how they're related, as she's only ever mentioned a "Rose" once before). Has she truly nowhere else to go?

Dirk clears his throat, and a brief cough spurts from his mouth. “She’s refused my money twice already.”

Ah, that’s right; according to Roxy, the Striders are quite a wealthy group. Well it doesn’t especially surprise him that she would reject his money in such a way.  She has far more pride than one would expect. “So… what now?” Where will Roxy go? What will she do?

“No one knows yet…” Jane pipes up, though remains mostly quiet out of fear of awakening their latent companion.  A somewhat awkward stillness falls over the trio, broken only by the grating sound of Dirk’s wrench against his mechanism. Jane sits beside Jake, eyeing Roxy with careful, weary eyes. Apparently the blond woman had been quite the handful prior to his arrival, Jake notes. He himself leans up against the wall, across from Dirk and perpendicular to the couch, which creaks every time Roxy so much as flinches.

… What more is there to say, really? Roxy is having troubles, and Dirk and he are an utter disaster. The Strider’s eyes meet his only once more, and upon this dismal second, Dirk immediately tears his attention back down to his work. Jake sighs, though does not relinquish his gaze just yet. How can he? A certain tick within him is positively _itching_ to say something, to bring up what has happened earlier, yet he cannot bring himself to speak, particularly with Jane still conscious in the room.

... What would he say? This is another issue brought immediately to mind, and he swallows in blatant discomfort.  He does not reciprocate Dirk’s fondness, and even if he did, it isn’t as though anything of that sort could ever work out. Any rumors or stories he has ever heard about homosexuality (though there have been very few) are never positive. He finds himself almost pitying Dirk out of that in itself; the poor bloke will never get far in life if he ever decides to come out as… well, as being the way he is.

And where does he, Jake English, stand? He does not consider himself homosexual. He never has, and perhaps he never will. But that isn’t to say, necessarily, that he doesn’t feel for the Strider man. Wait, but this does not mean that he’s admitting that he _does_ feel for Dirk, because he himself is not certain of anything at this point, and oh, does his head _hurt_.

“I’m going to go clean up the kitchen…” Jane mumbles, feigning a little smile. “By golly, did Roxy make a mess in there earlier…”

… Wait, no! he wants to shout. _Don’t leave me alone with him!_ This is perhaps the absolute worst thing Jane can do right now. There are so many uncouth things he wants to shout at her, the insane woman, but he, of course, is more of a gentleman than _that_ , anyway. Instead, he just gives a little “ehh…” and watches the blue-garbed girl rise to her feet and disappear into the kitchen area. A grimace grows upon his tanned face; he almost falls over upon Dirk’s voice meeting his ears, though it is distant, which causes a slow wave of relief to wash over him.

“Pass me those nuts.”

A sudden heat rises to his face, curling up to his ears. Thank God for his darker complexion. “… W-What? C-Come again, mate?” Oh, how he hopes dearly that Dirk means cashews, or something of the sort…! A heavy ball of saliva slides down his throat as he swallows hard, trying to will down his blush (to no avail).

“The nuts. In that box by your foot.” Dirk stares at him long and hard for a moment, and a thin blonde eyebrow raises little by little above his sunglasses. Though it takes him a moment, Dirk seems to have caught on to what Jake thought he meant, for the scarlet on his freckled face is far more evident than on Jake’s, and he hurriedly pulls his shaded eyes away with a low growl.

Wordlessly, Jake slides the box toward him, placing a hand to his face in a subconscious attempt to mask his embarrassment. Oh, he’ll never hear the end of this one… How can he even have thought of it that way? He’s not that kind of person, usually! Mayday, mayday…! Oh, yes, their relationship as friends is over, whether a romance proceeds from here or not.

“… Jake.” Dirk finally speaks, though still avoids the other man’s face. His expression is stoic, and his tone is harsh. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you think or how you feel about me, or about any of this, but at least get one thing through your head: despite what the majority of the world seems to think, I am _not_ a “pervert”, or a “cocksucker”, or anything else like that. Got it?” He sits his mechanism aside, giving a short cough again; Jake assumes these coughs are another sinusitis-related thing. The tone of Dirk’s voice changes; it is now less stern, though if Jake is not mistaken, it has a newly-birthed sullenness about it. “Never call me anything like that. I’m not out to fucking rape you.”

“… Dirk…” Jake’s voice fades away, catching in his throat as a sour lump settles in front of it. A new swelling of guilt curdles in his chest; he can feel his dark eyebrows converging together on his forehead. Do people really think of it like that? Yes, he has heard the radio broadcasts, and that sort of thing, but is he truly discriminated against in such a way? “I never… Gee, Dirk, I know that. I’m real sorry about what just happened a minute ago; I swear I didn’t… Ah…”

“Yeah, I know.” Dirk chances the briefest of smiles, though it dims almost instantaneously. “Just don’t do it again, English.”

A small smile inches its way onto Jake’s lips as well. “Will do, chum. Will do.”

And for once, Dirk reciprocates the smirk full on. It withers soon after, as it always does, but Jake knows him all too well; the mirth is still plentiful in those hidden orange eyes.

Keeping his voice low, Jake eyes Roxy on the couch, assuring himself that she is, indeed, sound asleep before continuing on with their conversation. “… Dirk…? I really am sorry, but… I just don’t know about all of this yet…”

Dirk shrugs, picking up his mechanism again and beginning to turn it over absently in his calloused fingers. A shudder ripples through Jake's body; the last time he saw those fingers, they had been crusted with dry blood. “I know.”

“… You know?”

He nods. “You just broke up with Jane this morning. Didn’t really expect you to be the type to hop from one bitch to another.”

 _That’s not the issue at all, actually…_ Jake gives a nervous chuckle. “Right, of course…”

"Just give it time." He shrugs again, and scoots across the floor on his bottom until he comes to sit directly beside his male love interest. "Could be a day, could be a whole year."

So Dirk expects him to fall head over heels in less than a year's time? Jake groans inwardly, and parts his lips to retort, but finds himself cut off by the sound of Roxy turning over in her sleep. His obtuse teeth bite down on his lower lip, though the woman remains sound asleep, prompting a low sigh to flow from his nostrils.

At last, he turns to face Dirk, who is now sitting much too close for personal comfort. Although the Strider has made no more advances, he _has_ managed to sit himself close enough that their clothed thighs brush on occasion, and this in itself is enough to make Jake a little uncomfortable. Dirk, contrarily, hardly seems to mind, and instead continues to fiddle away on his mechanical object, though not without throwing Jake the occasional glance.

Their shoulders rub once, a feather-light touch, yet enough contact to make them both flinch.

Things are, indeed, quite awkward between them, Jake notes as a sleepy yawn slips past his lips. Things probably won't be the same, ever, regardless of where the two of them end up.

All the same, despite himself, he isn't so sure that he minds as much as he would have thought.   

~*~*~*~

Time morphs before their eyes, seconds into minutes into hours. It isn't until midnight that Jane finishes cleaning up the kitchen, and as she gently sits the dirty sponge aside, she can't help but give a little yawn herself. It's been a long day for everyone, and her apparent sleepiness is enough of an indication. Pulling off her gloves, she drifts from the kitchen area and out into the living room, peering over at each of her friends through the darkness (the lights have been switched off at some point). 

Roxy is awake now, and has been for about an hour. She sits emotionlessly in front of the television, watching some sitcom on low volume and occasionally clutching at her head in discomfort. Poor gal. Perhaps she can find work for Roxy at the bakery, though even this seems unlikely at this point. Even the bakery is doing poorly this month...

Jane's eyes then fall on Jake and Dirk, who are now sitting side by side, illuminated by the soft glow of the television. Dirk's sunglasses have been discarded, and Jake's eyeglasses removed for comfort purposes. The adventurer's features are soft and tranquil, and it is clear that he has fallen asleep from the long, thought-intensive day. His neck is inclined, and his chin rests comfortably atop Dirk's right shoulder. The latter's mechanism has been discarded for the time being, and instead, his right hand rests in his lap; his left hand rises once, lightly running a hesitant, quivering knuckle along Jake's tanned cheek. He gingerly moves to trace the other man's jawline with his fingertip, and a quaking sigh pushes out from his mouth.

Spotting Jane from the corner of his eye, he hurriedly jerks his hand away, as though Jake's skin is an open flame to his melting ice. He slips that cool façade back onto his features, placing a finger to his lips to silence her.

Smiling softly, Jane nods her head; though she had been a bit skeptic at first, she has known of Dirk's romance situation for quite some time now. Turning away, she moves to sit beside Roxy on the sofa, and focuses her attention on comforting her best friend to the best of her ability, though not before her eyes catch something that she knows is not meant for her eyes.

A stray tear begins pooling over Dirk's lower lid, though in realizing this, he hastily wipes it away and tucks his head again, orange gaze piercing the floor beneath his body.

A small frown appears on Jane's lips. Roxy is a single woman with an alcohol problem and no job. Dirk is in love with a man who is always so close, yet will likely never reciprocate his feelings, and in either situation, he'll end up getting publicly shunned and insulted for his sexuality.

Between Roxy and Dirk, she really cannot ascertain who is more unfortunate at the moment. Perhaps both are equally so. Either way, it makes her stomach churn, and almost brings a tear to _her_ eye as well.

Roxy and Dirk.   

Denied by society... Denied by life itself...

It must hurt something awful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I feel like this chapter is sub-par. Argh.  
>  Anyway, thanks for the feedback.
> 
> This might mark where I update slightly less frequently than I have been. I have homework to finish, school starts soon, and I'm having some slight depression/self-confidence issues right now. I would expect one or two updates a week. Maybe less soon. I really don't know right now. 
> 
> Lore out. Stay awesome, everyone.


	9. Chapter 9

As three rugged months slip on past, September dawns, and with it comes the dropping of the temperature to about ninety degrees instead of one-hundred. Jake has never been much of a fan of this bizarre Texas weather, though makes absolutely no complaints when a certain Strider drops a subtle hint of an idea one late September weekend.

“Wanna go to the drive-in movie theater?”

It takes all of Jake’s willpower to resist the urge to leap into Dirk’s arms and cry out in joy. Instead, he opts for a brief double-take and a tight hug. “Would I ever! Golly, Dirk, yes!” Letting loose an animated laugh, he releases his hold on the (now slightly tousled) Strider and clasps his hands together, thoughts racing and mouth trying desperately to keep up with his mind. “There are so many flicks I want to see right now! There’s _Asphalt Jungle_ , and _Sunset Boulevard_ … Oh! I’ve heard _The Gunfighter_ is really good, too…! Wonder which one is playing?"

“Doesn’t matter to me.” Dirk shrugs, leaning back into the chair and readjusting his sunglasses, which had fallen askew in Jake’s enthusiastic embrace. The two rest contently in Dirk’s apartment one afternoon in September, beating the heat with simple lemon-based beverages. “Don’t be surprised if I fall asleep though; my head hurts like a bitch.”

Jake’s face falls for a moment, a look of mild concern taking its place on his features. “Oh… are you okay?”

“I’ll live. Just didn’t sleep well last night.” As if prompted, Dirk gives the briefest of yawns before reaching a hand into the depths of his pants pocket, removing a glossy little key and dangling it tantalizingly in front of Jake’s nose. “We’ll be taking my car."

At this point, Jake is all but hopping up and down like a buffoon. Dirk drives a sleek black '49 Ambassador, and _oh_ , is it a nice ride. He's almost certain Dirk has made some sort of modifications to it. "Sounds dapper. Let's get going...!" His chest is overflowing with joy, and his eyes are wide and bright with mirth.

It almost brings a smile to Dirk's face. Almost. The blonde twirls the keyring on his finger for a minute before opening the door, walking out into the hot evening sun with a wince; his adventuring companion follows closely behind. It won't be a cool showing, of that much Jake is certain, though by the time they get there, the sun likely shall have set. As the two maneuver out toward the car, Dirk unlocks the vehicle and pauses momentarily, eyeing the passenger's door with a slight frown. Hesitantly, he reaches forward and holds the door open, jerking his head once at Jake in an implication.

Jake, on the other hand, understands exactly what's going on here, and hurriedly slides into the car with a light blush. This _is_ a bit... Erm, well, it's something a lot of couples go out and do, and considering the circumstances, it's understandable why Dirk would think to open the door for him.

Either way, though, he isn't a girl... He folds his arms and makes a face, avoiding Dirk's eyes altogether as he starts the car. Strider looks totally unphased, an idea that leaves Jake mildly bitter. Giving one last yawn, Dirk peers behind him and backs the car out with extreme care.

As they get out onto the main road, Jake finds himself idly trying to pass the time; what better way than to strike up a conversation? All of this silence is simply awkward, and that doesn't bode well for anyone. "You sure you should be driving, mate? Aren't you feeling a little under the weather?"

"Jake, I said I'm fine. Don't worry." He subconsciously reaches out with one hand to place it gingerly over Jake's, shuddering at the rapid pulse beneath. Needless to say, Jake takes this heavily, and, without thinking, tugs his hand away in repulsion; Dirk's fingers curl into a loose fist and pull away, landing back on the steering wheel with white knuckles.

The tanned man sighs, frown deepening as he glances downward at his own fingers; the top of his hand tingles with a peculiar heat. An awkward quiet settles in, and the remainder of the ride is spent in utter silence, apart from the car engine and the occasional tapping from Jake (usually for the sake of making some sort of sound).

At last, after what seems to Jake an eternity and then some, they arrive at the drive-in theater; he looks onward, absolute awe sprawled out bare across his face. The lights are dim and few, and the number of other cars surrounding them is surprisingly few.

Dirk leans out of the window, peering ahead at a billboard nearby. "Looks like _Asphalt Jungle_ is showing tonight. That cool with you?"

"Perfect!" Jake has been positively itching to see this movie, and at long last...! Ah, he can hardly handle the wait! "I've heard the suspense is out the wazoo!"

Dirk drives forward after paying and finds a nice spot in the middle, pulling the car in and putting it in park. "Should start soon." He peers diddling at Jake, who is currently squirming like a child and altogether looking about ten years younger. Dirk lightly rolls his eyes. "Try not to piss yourself."

"-and he was in this other movie I saw once..." Jake continues to ramble, occasionally pausing to sigh giddily or catch his breath. "Seriously, chum, thanks for this. You're swell."

Dirk merely grunts, leaning back and cupping his hands behind his head in relaxation.

A low noise sounds from the strikingly large screen, and it isn't long before the movie begins with a booming instrumental number. "It's starting!" Contrarily to Dirk, Jake is sitting on the edge of his seat in some strange subconscious effort to be as close to the screen as physically possible.

Throughout the film's eighty-minute duration, Jake's animated actions change dramatically depending on the situation. Dirk is certain he's noted amazement, happiness, fear, sadness, and anger (along with various emotions in between) through this span, and each and every time, Jake mutters enthusiastically about it all. Sometimes he murmurs to himself, and others he is hissing to Dirk about the decisions of certain characters, or about how splendid of an acting job a particular actor or actress is doing. It's quite amusing, to say the least.

Twice, Jake's focus has been torn from the screen, and both times concern his Strider friend. The first time, his nose starts bleeding something awful, and the second, he has fallen asleep with a mild fever. Jake shudders. He sure hopes he never has to deal with sinus problems like these. They do sort of appear to have quite the impact on Dirk's life, between the random symptom onsets and the daily drug usage. It must be dreadful. 

Once the movie has ended and gone black, a thick blanket of onyx has settled in over their heads. The cars around them begin to make their departures, and, as Jake stretches out and beams from ear to ear, the adventurer can't help but notice the blonde's slumbering state in the driver's seat beside him. "Dirk...?" He cautiously reaches a hand forward and places his hand on the other man's forehead, which is completely hot beneath his touch.

"Looks like the bloke still has a fever..." A little frown grows on his lips.  Well, Dirk's definitely in no state to drive home, then. He hastily retracts his hand as Dirk stirs beneath his touch, and the other man's eyes slowly open, though half-lidded and lackluster. He doesn't even bother to push his sunglasses back up his nose. 

"Is the movie over?"

"Yeah... It's done..." Sitting upright, Jake lightly prods Dirk's shoulder, earning a low groan that makes Jake's heart sink. "Dirk, are you okay?"

"I'm fine..." The scorn in his voice is painfully weak. Sharply intaking a breath, Dirk scoots up and sits himself upright, gripping the wheel with a little shiver. "It's so fucking cold in here."

Jake's frown deepens. "Dirk, it's eighty-five degrees outside..." Yes, he definitely has a fever, but... Surely he won't still try driving them home? That's likely to get them killed, with the state that the Strider looks to be in. "Why don't you let me drive home?"

"I'm well enough to drive."

"I don't want to hear that. You obviously feel like shit, so don't lie to me. Now get out of the automobile."

Although begrudgingly, Dirk complies and steps out, peering around lazily. Every other car has left by now, causing an eerie silence to linger behind. Jake gets out of the vehicle as well, walking around the front of the car to the driver's side.

"H-Hey!" Right as he grips the handle in his fingers, Dirk's arms appear on either side of him, trapping him between the car and Dirk's chest. "What do you think you're doing? Have you gone mad?"

"You're not driving home."

"And why the hell not?" A new aggravation bubbles in Jake's gut. He struggles to free himself from this position against the car, and turns around to face the blonde with a rare scowl. "You can hardly stand up!"

A flash of something glints in Dirk's orange eyes; unfortunately, Jake cannot quite discern what. "What does it matter to you?"

"I don't bloody want to get in a wreck and die." He speaks flatly now, clearly in no mood to argue. "And I care about you a lot."

Dirk's tongue darts out to remoisten his dry mouth, and his eyes search Jake's face for the briefest of moments. A sudden smirk, small and subtle, appears on his lips. "Thought so."

"What are you t- _mffrmfph!_ "

Dirk's mouth effectively silences all of the petty words on his tongue. 

~*~*~*~

Oh God. 

Oh God oh God oh _God_.

Dirk Strider is kissing him.

Dirk Strider. Kissing him.

It's only a peck, and it's a bit sweaty from Dirk's fading fever, but it does happen. As Dirk breaks the contact, Jake stares on in disbelief, green eyes wide and brows darting upward. "Y-You... You j-"

Once more, Dirk's lips ensnare his own, desperate and uncertain and trembling. It tastes of blood, Jake notes with a wince. He leans back to break the kiss and hurriedly shoves Dirk away, eyeing the other man with an overwhelming array of emotions swelling up in his abdomen. "What... What are you doing?"

"I don't even know anymore." Dirk's response is surprisingly casual. "With you, I never know. And it drives me up the fucking wall."

Jake has never known much of anything to drive Dirk batty, and the aspect does frighten him a little.

Yet... A feeling of guilt begins to twist in his stomach. All of this ambiguity about them... Jake certainly hasn't been helping the situation, anyway. Dirk has no right to simply kiss him on a whim, but he himself hasn't exactly been fair either. He grits his teeth, melancholy showing clearly on his features.  "... Oh, this isn't at all how I imagined this going..."

Wait, what did he just say...? He has never imagined kissing Dirk at all. Well, not regularly anyway. It might have crossed his mind before. Once or twice. But. Still.

Dirk seems to have caught on as well, as one of his flaxen eyebrows twitches upward. However, releasing his hold on Jake, he makes no further motion to kiss the man, and instead lightly pushes past to open the driver's door. Sliding in, he silently starts the car, waiting for Jake to climb in before driving off.

The entire ride home is perhaps more awkward than the drive up had been, tenfold, for obvious reasons.  Neither of them dare to so much as utter a single word.

Jake stares down at his lap, fidgeting as his thoughts drift back to the mishap earlier. Dirk kissed him. Twice. He should be disgusted, repulsed... Yet as much as it pains him to admit, it _was_ ten times better than he ever would have imagined. Apart from the taste of blood and the tension taking refuge between them, the contact had felt good. Really, _really_ good. Dirk still hasn't any excuse for what he did, as kissing him so forwardly twice is out of the question. After all, they aren't even seeing each other.

It is in this fraction of a moment that Jake reminds himself, once more, that he and Dirk are both men. It will never work out between them. They could never marry, or publicly go out anywhere and act affectionately. They could both lose their jobs, and if word got around the neighborhood, they could be denied anything-- groceries, hospitality... Why, Dirk might even be denied anymore doctor's visits.

All for loving someone of the same sex.

Jake coughs once, eyes shutting for a moment. Love? He hasn't admitted to loving Dirk. He isn't even so certain he's attracted to the man. But perhaps it's only fair to give Dirk a fighting chance. And it isn't as though he hasn't considered it himself, though probably much less than the Strider, and-

"Jake." Dirk's voice, stoic and flat, snaps him instantly from the depths of his mind. Eyes shooting up toward the blonde, Jake blinks once, twice, thrice, before realizing that they have reached his house.

Oh.

Solemnly, Jake opens the door and clambers out of the car, fishing his house key out of his pocket.

"... Dirk?" Rather than shutting the door behind him, however, he peers into the vehicle one last time, eyes honing in on Dirk's face; the latter's orange gaze refuses to meet his own, and instead stares sternly into the steering wheel. A sadness strikes Jake hard, and his teeth graze his bottom lip uncomfortably. "... U-Uh..." A low sigh passes through his lips. Without another utterance, he shuts the door, the words swiftly dying out on his tongue.

There is still so much he wants to say, wants to do, but perhaps now is not the time.

Trudging up to the house, he unlocks the front door, peering back once to find Dirk has already pulled away and out of sight. An embarrassed heat rises in his face.

What an awful situation, he thinks as a leaden guilt drops into his stomach. Whether he wants to admit it or not, Dirk is hurt, and has every last reason to be.

It proves a sleepless night, and not once does the astounding movie he has just viewed come to mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for leaving comments and kudos, everyone~.
> 
> I'm still not sure about the characterization. But with Homestuck, I never am, so... ._.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, forget what I said a few chapters ago; this marks where updates will (probably) become gradually less frequent.

It's a groggy, gray morning when Jake awakens. He had finally managed to fall lightly asleep about an hour prior, after spending the remainder of the night in heavy worry over Dirk. Had the Strider gotten home last night? He'd had a nasty fever at one point, hadn't he? Will Dirk ever so much as look his way again, after those little misunderstandings?

... Misunderstandings? No, he thinks with a bitter shake of the head. They both understand all too well what went down at that theater. The very inkling of such a thought turns Jake's stomach sour with hanging guilt. This is all his fault. Or, rather, the majority of this is his fault.

And it's his duty, as an English, to set things right between them once again.

How exactly this is going to happen, he is uncertain. The standard English way is to, quite literally, shoot the problem in the face with a semi-automatic pistol.

... Needless to say, he doubts this is the best solution to a problem of this calibur.

Perhaps the only true way is to confront Dirk about their emotions and somehow work out a solution. Though, while it's blatantly obvious how Dirk feels towards him, he himself is still wrestling with the idea of possibly having an attraction to the male. 

But perhaps this is one of those situations in which going in without a game plan is the best idea. Why, is he wild-raised or not? Nodding to himself confidently, he rises from the mattress and gets himself dressed, garbed in a casual vest and black pants, covered by the standard overcoat; as per usual, he dons his little black Homburg.

He's going to do it. This day, this morning. But... Where should he go first? Dirk could be at home, or perhaps at work. For all he knows, the blonde could be out shopping or eating breakfast. Argh... Well, he might as well start at the mechanic's shop, since it isn't too far from here, and work his way out from there.

He just hopes to god that Dirk is alright, both physically and emotionally.

Well, mentally too.

But that's a bit of a far stretch.

Stumbling out into the hall, he walks out into the living room and towards the kitchen, snatching up a slice of fresh bread before heading directly out the door.

Oh, right... He has work today, himself. As he locks the front door shut, this realization hits him like a brick, and his mood momentarily deflates. Work, huh? Oh, screw work. It can wait. Right now, and always, his familiar company is placed far above his laboring company on the hierarchy of his inner priorities. 

Granted, that sort of attitude is likely to get him fired someday... Ah, forget it. If he's actually going through with this, then he's as good as unemployed anyway.

But he already has a bad reputation with the new boss...

... Can Dirk wait, though?

All of this conflict is, if at all possible, making his head throb even more so than it already has. He truly doesn't want to leave Dirk in a potential state of turmoil, yet he isn't so certain that he can afford to skip another day of work...

... Perhaps he can show up at the factory and talk to his boss? See if he can at least get half of the day off? It's not likely. In fact, he daresay it's an impossibility. But it's worth attempting, at the absolute least.

Dirk is worth that much, at the very least.

Biting his lower lip with his protruding teeth, Jake spins on his heel and begins to walk in the opposite direction, hastening with every single step as his mind races with his feet.

Oh, this had better be a decently stress-free work day.

~*~*~*~

Thus, needless to say, it proves to be an _exceptionally_ tough day at work, and, on top of that, he isn't granted permission to leave early. The entire work day is wasted flitting this way and that, all the while fretting his little head over poor Dirk. 

Really, there are two extreme possibilities, however unlikely they may be: Dirk could have waved last night off with nary another thought, or he could have been _so_ crushed by Jake and by life itself that he killed himself.

Neither of those are very plausible, but at this point he dares not rule out anything.

At long last, around eight-o-clock, he finishes up the work day and all but falls face-first out of the front door of the factory. Rapidly rechecking his watch, Jake hurries down the sidewalk, lost in frantic thought. Where should he go first? Dirk gets off of work at six, so it isn't very likely that he'll still be there. He's probably at home, then. Inhaling deeply, he picks up into a hasty run, earning a few stares from other departing employees.

He has to reach Dirk somehow. At this point, his image is losing importance.

It takes about ten minutes to reach Dirk's apartment from the factory, and by the time he gets there, the sky has faded to an ebony black; his path is lit only by dim building lights and a few twinkling stars up above. Making his way up the three flights of stairs, he approaches Dirk's door and, with a hard swallow, raps urgently on the door with his knuckle.

Two minutes pass. He tries again, and jiggles the handle; it's locked tight. All of the hope in his chest instantly diminishes. If he isn't home, then where...? Surely he didn't stay late at the mechanic's shop? He supposes it's a possibility... Well, at this point, he's willing to check a thrift store in China for the other man, so perhaps a visit to Dirk's workplace is in order.

He spends the next five minutes trying to flag down a taxi. When none arrive for him, he opts for walking again, though has worn himself out from running to Dirk's apartment, so it's a much slower walk than he prefers. He's gotten out of shape, it would seem. That's what he gets for being a town-boy now.

And no, he still hasn't the slightest idea what he's going to say once he reunites with Dirk. Probably something short of a love confession but more than an indifferent wave of the hand.

Ah, and an apology is definitely in order, first and foremost.

Although he pauses once to catch his breath, it takes surprisingly little time to reach the shop; he notices the little black Ambassador parked aside the building, and in an instant he knows Dirk must be around here somewhere. The mere thought makes the blood pound loudly in his ears. Subconsciously, he adjusts his hat (Lord knows he has frightful hat hair sometimes) and recuffs his sleeves.

Well... Here goes nothing.

His feet feel like heavy lead as he urges himself forward, one steady step at a time. He lightly pushes the door open and walks into the garage, peering around curiously at the strange atmosphere of the room. It's uncomfortably hot, and pretty dark as well (only three lights are lit in the entire room)... Must be saving electricity.

"Sir, we're closed." A man of about forty years approaches from beside him, cigar hanging loosely from his lips. His face is marred by sweat and car grime. "What's your business here?"

"Oh, right..." Jake shudders, resisting the urge to gag. However appealing smoking might be at times, it certainly stinks something awful. "I-I'm looking for a Dirk Strider. Is he here?"

"Strider's still in his garage, over there." The man jerks his thumb behind his shoulder, grabbing his cigar and puffing out a little bit of smoke. "Don't take too long."

Nodding his head in thanks, Jake makes his way toward the garage, giving a mild cough. Ugh. Well, the sooner he gets this over with, the sooner he can leave and breathe in some fresh air.

As he approaches the garage in question, a sound meets Jake's ears: a clanking, from behind a small blue car of some sort (he himself has never seen the make before). Perhaps it is Dirk, fiddling away on the door of the car? Indeed, as he slinks nearer, he sees them; two perfectly clean black shoes sticking up from under the vehicle.

He can only assume this means that Dirk is beneath the car.

It would seem as though he has yet to be noticed... Perhaps this is for the best. Moving as silently as possible, Jake inches forward, nearly stepping on a sandwich, which he notes (with a frown) to be untouched. The sound of Dirk's erratic clanking remains the only disruption to the unsettling quiet of the garage space. Licking his lips, Jake gives one last, sharp inhale before opening his mouth to speak.

"Dirk?"

If the other man is surprised in the slightest to hear Jake's voice, it doesn't show. In fact, Dirk does not so much as falter from his work, and instead simply continues on. Jake makes a face and folds his arms over his chest. It bothers him something awful that he cannot see the blonde (apart from his shoes), and this simply won't do for a proper spilling of the truth.

"Sorry, chap, but we need to talk."

Thus, he leans down, grabs Dirk by the ankles, and tugs him out from under the car. He's never been an especially aggressive person, but he isn't afraid to get flatly to the point.

At last, Dirk's full body is in his sights, skin and clothes caked with splotches of sticky grime and oil. His sunglasses have been discarded for the time being; those stoic sunset irises stare up at Jake with a mild hint of disapproval.

It's plain and obvious that Dirk does not wish to speak further with the islander today, and though he wears it subtly, Jake knows all too well that it might as well be a raging glare. "Dirk?"

"Gotta pimp out this sick ride by morning." He speaks hoarsely, bitterly, a thick venom coating his tongue and dripping from every word plucked forth by his tongue. "I need to get to work."

Gulping down the gathering saliva in his mouth, Jake kneels down in front of him. "You're one shitty liar, you know."

"I'm serious. This is serious, unironic business." Sitting up, Dirk idly wipes some oil from his arm, peering back at Jake with a variety of contradicting emotions lingering in his eyes. _What all is he holding back...?_ Jake cannot help but wonder. _Poor bloke looks about ready to blow his top and fall off his rocker._  "If this is about last night, then I don't want-"

"No, wait!" Jake's eyes clench tight, mind struggling to find the right words to say. When finally he speaks, he finds himself stumbling over his words and talking at an unreasonably quick speed.  "I know things were rough last night, and I'm mighty sorry for all that, but I don't really... I mean, I want to give this thing a try... Mate, I..." The words slow to a shaky stop. His fingers won't quit trembling, his heart twisting and pumping wildly. He opens his eyes, and, with one last swallow, glances up with a wince; his eyes meet Dirk's, and the distaste glints faintly in the other's gaze.

"... Is that it?" Dirk shrugs, though does so stiffly, and looks away with a frown. "... Don't fucking fake this."

Jake's expression grows incredulous. "Wait, what?"

"Like hell are you "trying" this..." Dirk's voice lowers to a hiss, noting the brief yet curious glance of his boss from across the floor. "It's not something you "try", Jake. This is love, not a fucking buffet line. I'm not the fried chicken to your pallette."

"E-Excuse me?" It's Jake's turn to be outraged. "I didn't mean it like that at all! And what does that even bloody _mean_?"

"I _love_ you, English." Dirk's fingers curl at his sides, squeezing in and out subconsciously as he lets everything out. Gradually, his voice softens (though only slightly), and his stoic expression begins to return. "I've loved you, unironically, for _two years_ now." He swallows; Jake finds himself watching Dirk's Adam's apple bob as his own thoughts and emotions run rampant. Dirk's voice grows softer. "Dig that. Let it sink in real long. My heart's been half-empty for two years. Don't fill it with your false hope."

That last line is harsh, though cheesy; all the same, considering the famous Strider freestyle poetry (an art they refer to as "rap"), perhaps it isn't so far-fetched. 

The disbelief is still written all over Jake's face, and for a moment, he finds himself at a loss for words. Two years? Why, he only first met the man a little over two years ago. Has he really harbored such affections for so long?

Instinct looms over him.

In a brief moment, Jake suddenly reaches forward, taking Dirk's face in his quivering hands; his pale skin is hot to the touch. At the feeling of cool fingers resting along his jaw, Dirk jerks his head upward, entirely unanticipating this and, as a result, revealing an expression of pure shock for the briefest of moments (though it is soon altered back).

"Dirk." Jake flushes red in embarrassment as his voice squeaks. He makes sure to clear his throat before continuing. "Look, chap. I... I meant what I said last night. I care about you. I care _for_ you. I..." He swallows. "What more do you want out of me, for Pete's sake? I'm plenty willing to try this. Try _us_. God, this sounds corny as hell, but-"

"Just stop while you're ahead." Voice low and shaky, Dirk speaks at last; no longer do his eyes reveal melancholy, but a peculiar emotion, almost akin to fear. Whether he wants to admit it or not, the terror is evident in the deepest crevices of his eyes, of his face, of his essence... A revelation meant only for Jake's trained eyes, and this is something they both shall come to cherish. "... So how many of those lines were movie quotes...?"

"... Only two..." A hot blush creeps down Jake's neck. Giving a short chuckle, Dirk lifts a slim hand and, with a feather-light touch, sets it over Jake's, which still rests upon his face. Jake gives a small flinch, though makes no effort to squirm away from the contact. "Look, I'm still not used to the whole idea, but..."

He finds the words dying on his tongue as Dirk suddenly tugs him forward, wrapping his strong arms around the tanned male and holding their bodies close. It's an awkward hug, to say the least; Dirk is filthy and reeks of oil, and both of them are a little unsteady from the sheer gravity of what just happened.

All the same, it could not feel more perfect.

Hesitantly, Jake's arms rise and return the hug, though the tightness of his hold cannot compare to Dirk's. The blonde's hands are on his upper back, trembling and tightly grasping two fist-fulls of the coat fabric beneath. His head rests atop Jake's shoulder (the two are roughly the same height, and are still kneeling on the floor); Jake can feel the erratic beating of Dirk's frantic heart beneath his touch.

At last, Jake finds the ability to speak coherent words returning to him, though his chest feels greatly constricted by the strength of Dirk's hold. "... That's a smidgen too tight, mate..."

A light snort passes through Dirk's nose. Instead, he loosens his hold only slightly, releasing a quiet, content sigh.

"I waited two fucking years for you, English." Another breathless swallow. "I'm never letting you go."

And so they sit, shaking and uncertain and embracing, until Dirk's boss kicks Jake out for exceeding his welcome. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So did you catch the (blatant) god tier references? Yes? Good, good. I'm sorry for such a corny incorporation of it, but I DO try to parallel things between this and the actually webcomic, to an extent. The pumpkin house, the Texas, the god tiers...
> 
> ... I'll shut up now. 
> 
> Thanks for the commentary, as always. I cherish all of you readers out there. Hearts and Hashes.


	11. Chapter 11

"-and his acting was absolutely _wicked_!" Jake tightly clutches the phone in his hand, attention focused intently upon every last word spoken on the other line. A casual, serene smile rests comfortably on his lips as he leans back against the wall, weaving his free fingers absently through frantic locks of dark hair. "I'd see it again in an instant."

" _That can be arranged_." A brief pause lingers on the other end; Jake winces at the faint sound of Dirk's dry coughing. Looks like the newest attempt at medication still isn't helping. At last, the familiar tone of Dirk's smooth drawl greets his ears once more, and Jake yet again finds himself relishing in every sweet syllable. " _Roxy got herself a job._ "

"Really?" Jake's eyebrows rise curiously. "Where at?"

" _All she said is that some girl she met on the streets hooked her up. Don't know anything more than that._

"

"Well, that's good!" A silent sigh of relief escapes from his lungs. Roxy has been driving them all a bit batty these past months, after having been unemployed for so long.  

" _... Wanna go grab some food?_ "

"Hm? Right now?" A light scarlet brushes along his cheeks. "Yeah, sure... I'm starving."

" _Cool. I'll swing by in ten. See you soon, Jake._ "

Jake cannot contain the smirk threatening to spread across his lips. After so much time spent with the Strider, his peculiar phrases and mannerisms have all mostly become familiar to him. "Bye, Dirk."

A month has passed since Jake's confession.

A steady breath wafts through Jake's nose as he places the phone gently down. However routine these casual phone calls are becoming, he still isn't entirely accustomed to the prospect of having a _boyfriend_. He isn't even sure if Dirk qualifies as such a thing. Are they going steady...? He doesn't think they're quite to that point yet, but with the constant calls and whatnot, it's plainly obvious that the two are past the point of friendship.

The idea stirs up Jake's insides something awful.

Silently, he dresses himself in apparel that he hopes dearly isn't too casual for wherever it is that Dirk has in mind. He's never been one for the fancy, gaudy garbs associated with fine dining. Actually, fine dining in itself has always been a bit too pristine for his personal tastes. He himself would be perfectly satiated with a simple pizza parlour, or even a little burger joint. Unfortunately, he isn't entirely familiar with Dirk's tastes in such a field, and with Strider, he swears never to make an assumption. At this point, he can predict virtually nothing.

His gaze flickers across the mirror, catching a glimpse of himself in all of his grand (casual) style. Oh, yes, he thinks with a confident smirk. He _does_ look mighty dapper. Laughing lightly at himself, he squints his eyes and lifts his fingers in mock pistols, mimicking the twin weapons that presently reside in his bedroom closet. "Bang!" he hisses, and jerks his hands upward and back in a faked shot; he staggers slightly in his acting, though is actually quite good at it, perhaps from being such a film connoisseur.

"... Dude."

Those mock pistols fall, morphing quickly back into simple, loose fingers. A faint noise of surprise chokes out from the back of Jake's throat, and his large emerald eyes hesitantly flit over toward the doorway, where a certain Strider currently presides, watching him with an acute curiosity and an irking smugness about him.

Jake almost wishes to shoot that subtle expression clean off of his face.

And not with his finger pistols. 

The better portion of him mellows out, however, and lightly rubs the back of his neck in a mild embarrassment. "Heh, sorry 'bout that."

"Don't sweat it." Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, Dirk drags his eyes up and down a few times, looking Jake over with an unreadable face. Casually pushing his pointy sunglasses back up his nose, the blonde jerks his head back behind him, motioning for Jake to follow. The adventurer complies, stepping over toward Dirk and trailing closely behind as they maneuver down the hallway and out towards the door. "So you really miss that old island, huh?"

"Do I ever." Jake grabs his hat from the coatrack by the door and places it atop his head. "It's where I spent most of my life."

"When did you move?"

"Back in '43, when I was seventeen. The war in the Pacific made our living there too dangerous." Opening the front door, he exits the warm confinement of his pumpkin abode and walks out into the nippy evening air. It's strangely chilly today, for a Texan October. "Grandma died a year after we moved. We never really figured out what she died from. I always thought she simply couldn't live being away from what she loved." 

Dirk says nothing, though does avert his eyes for a minute. At last, after walking in silence for a moment, he clears his throat and speaks. "I'm starving... What's a good place to grab some food for a dinner thing like this?"

"Well, the usual, I'd imagine. I mean, I don't think-" Oh. A realization dawns upon Jake, thus he cuts himself off short. Has Dirk ever even been on a romantic outing...? If he's purely homosexual, it makes sense, Jake supposes, since most gay men seem to be closeted... Though it's a little foreign to him, after having been with women. Do men typically go to different places...? He wouldn't think so. "Um, pizza? Or burgers? Gee, Dirk, I don't know..."

"We could hit the diner." Dirk shoves his hands casually into his pockets, glancing down at Jake's bare hands every now and then. "... You know, since we met there and all. I'm really not good with all this "romantic outing" bullshit, so..."

Faint scarlet creeps up onto Jake's cheeks. That's right; they _had_ met in the local diner, back when he had lent Dirk a seat... Quite peculiar how such a trivial offer could spurn this sort of relationship between them. "Sounds brilliant." He smiles a toothy smile, earning a twitch of a grin in return from the other man. 

At this silent exchange, Dirk's hand retracts slowly from his pocket and faintly brushes along Jake's knuckles, lingering only briefly before hastily returning to its spot in the depths of his coat. Exhilerated goosebumps rise upon contact, running a shudder along Jake's spinal chord as their knuckles briefly brush. These touches, however brief, contain far more meaning than any embrace or kiss, for it is this dismal contact that allows for any sort of touching in public.

As long as it looks accidental or meaningless, neither of them need to worry.

A small smile drifts onto Jake's face, and he continues walking contently, relishing the Strider's company and, strangely, enjoying the pleasant silence. It's not a pregnant silence, nor an awkward one, but a serene quiet, for all that need be spoken is said through simple glances and occasional, fleeting touches.

The diner comes into view at last, lit brightly by overhanging bulbs and neon tubes. The door is, of course, unlocked, and hanging slightly ajar, with a little paper sign reading "We're open!" in curly, appealing writing taped to the glass.

Jake reaches outward for the door handle, pulling it open though not holding the door for Dirk out of faint hope that, somehow, it would make them less suspicious. Truly, he's never been one for labels of any sort, thus the prospect of gaining one that could possibly ruin his life in the entire suburban area does not appeal to him in the slightest. He wouldn't want that for Dirk either.

"Two?" The waitress holds up two slim fingers, grabbing a couple of menus from the frontmost counter. Beckoning with a simple wave, she approaches a table with booth seats, sitting the menus down gently in place. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Ah, evening, Aranea," Jake speaks almost instantly, flashing her a broad, friendly smile. "I'll just have a Pepsi-Cola."

"I should have known." She gives a gentle chuckle, paying no mind to the fact that Dirk is currently eyeing her like a wolf watches a territorial intruder. "You come by here so often... Ah, but anyway. What do you want?" She turns toward the Strider. 

"Just water," Dirk responds curtly, and all-too-hastily picks up his menu.

Jake raises an eyebrow at him inquisitively as Aranea strolls away to wait on another table. "Dirk? Everything alright?"

"It's nothing."

A frown twitches upon Jake's lips as Dirk subconsciously tugs the menu up higher to conceal his face entirely. "Like hell is it nothing. What's the matter, chum?"

"Have you had the peanut waffles here?"

Breakfast for dinner? Sounds like something Dirk would do. All the same, it's plainly obvious that the subject has just been spontaneously changed, sending a stirring discomfort to Jake's stomach. This is their first real outing as a couple-esque pair; though a rocky start is to be expected, he wishes Dirk would open up for once and just let him know what's on his mind. Then again, it's Dirk's "opening up" that brought them here in the first place.

"No, I haven't had them..." He finally musters up the courage to speak again. "I have a peanut allergy, remember?"

"Really?" The lack of interest in Dirk's voice betrays his fractionally small curiosity. 

"Yeah." Jake shivers. "Golly, it's awful. They make my stomach hurt, and then my throat starts itching... it's the whackiest feeling."

The waitress, Aranea, soon approaches the table with their beverages, momentarily relieving Jake of the awkward silence of seconds prior. "Ready to order?"

"I'll have the roast beef sandwich. The hot one." Handing his menu over, he lightly nudges Dirk's leg with his foot beneath the table. "Dirk?"

The blonde glances over the menu one last time before handing it over. "Scrambled eggs, toast, and... A cheeseburger. No tomato."

One of Aranea's eyebrows lifts questioningly, but she soon jots down the order and retreats into the kitchen.

Jake's eyes widen. What a combination. Though, yet again, he can't really say he's all that surprised. "So... Uh, why didn't we drive here?"

"Black Beauty's getting a brake check at the shop right now." Ah, that's right. Dirk has insisted on dubbing his black Ambassador "Black Beauty" after the ever-famous horse novel. Prior to the day this was decided, Jake had never realized just how passionate Dirk truly was about horses.

He soon learned that Roxy wasn't exaggerating _in the slightest_.

Their plates arrive soon enough, and it isn't long before Jake is digging in with fervent hunger. Dirk, contrarily, eats neatly, though at a speed that impresses even his male companion. "Whoa, there, Dirk. The chow's not going anywhere. Well, unless I steal it."

"If you want to keep a low profile, I wouldn't take any food from my plate." His answer is simple, concise, though he adds in a soft murmur, "If you _don't_ care about public image, I'll gladly feed you myself."

Jake's brow creases, and he almost drops his fork. "Pardon?"

"You heard me." The Strider shrugs and takes a bite out of his cheeseburger, eyeing Jake with a smug smirk. "... You eat sandwiches with a knife and fork?"

"So?" Jake protectively grips his fork tighter in his hand. "What's so wrong with that?"

Dirk simply shakes his head, still smirking in that same manner, and wordlessly continues to eat his burger.

Uttering a sigh, Jake continues gorging himself on his dinner, eyeing the other man on occasion with an obtuse interest. Dirk has been acting peculiarly today; either this is what he's truly like with courting, or something's bothering him. A rush of concern fills his body, yet his mouth remains tightly clamped. As exhibited earlier, Dirk doesn't seem to be one to talk about such things, and frankly, Jake isn't either. All the same, if something is deeply molesting the poor Strider, he wishes his friend would just let it all out.

Silently finishing their dinners, the two lean back in their seats, contented with their warmly full bellies. Aranea drops off the bill soon after, having one last casual conversation with Jake (about spiders, of all things) before setting it down on the table.

"So; who pays?" Dirk inquires, voice growing mildly bitter.

Jake swallows. "Well, normally the man pays..." He lightly nibbles the inside of his cheek for a moment as he thinks. "... Wanna split the bill?"

Dirk gives a nod and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a wallet in pristine condition; this is enough to prompt a grimace from Jake, whose own wallet is overflowing with random slips and starting to fall apart at the seams.

Come to think of it, organization isn't the only things separating them.  The more he considers it, he realizes that there really isn't a whole lot he and Dirk have in common. They have different interests, different tastes, _completely_ different personalities... Perhaps their only similarity, he notes sourly, is their shared gender.

Can a healthy relationship truly work out with such contrasting personalities?

Sure, he's seen a film or two where it works out between two polar opposites, but those all involved women who were as far from being Dirk Strider as the sun is the moon.  Maybe this is just how homosexual relationship are supposed to work; neither of them have the slightest inkling as to what they should be doing, thus everything is off to a rocky start.

To be honest, he isn't so certain he likes it.

~*~*~*~

The walk home is passed in idle chitchat and awkward pauses. This simply reinforces Jake's previous doubts about the steadiness of their budding romance, and... Well, he isn't entirely certain what to do at this point. It feels just as it did when they were simply pals.

"Oh, Dirk?" Jake finally pipes up, trying to come up with a topic of conversation. "That war over in Korea is getting worse. Any chance you'll be...?"

"They haven't started sending our troops over yet," Dirk responds plainly, giving a little yawn. "Even if they did, I wouldn't make it past the physical examination. Can't really have any chronic illnesses and take out enemy lines. I could get a nosebleed while bombing the commies."

"Oh..." It's all a bit strange to hear Dirk say "commies", especially considering how frequently that word is coupled with the term "queers" in certain radio broadcasts.

"I'm not a communist, Jake."

"I-I know that!" So much for casual conversation. Luckily, he soon spies his pumpkin house in the distance, and says precisely so to the other man.

"What pumpkin...?"

"My house." Jake points at it as they walk. "The colors are faded now, but it's orange, with a green roof on top. Like a pumpkin. Mighty ugly, but-" He peers over at Dirk, who is now choking on his own saliva and laughing simultaneously at Jake's explanation. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Come on."

At least Dirk seems to have cheered up a little. Removing his house key from his pocket, Jake unlocks the door and steps inside, hanging up his coat and removing his hat. "Uh... Feel free to stick around."

"Nope. Need to get home soon." His face turns downward for a brief moment. "Have to take care of some shit around the apartment..."

"Oh... Okay." The disappointment evident in his own voice surprises him a little. Of course the Strider needs to get home. He has more of a life than Jake, it seems. Then again, that really isn't a difficult accomplishment.

A hand reaches out and suddenly grasps at his own, snaking the fingers together and giving the gentlest of squeezes. Eyeing Jake's face from behind those ridiculous shades, Dirk lifts their intertwined fingers up, pressing his lips affectionately to the base of Jake's hand and kissing a knuckle. Jake's gaze lingers upon Dirk's face, wide and cautious, though not at all unwelcoming. Maybe the two aren't so wrong for each other after all. This is the sort of thing that society would have a fit over. The sort of thing they could never do in public.

Though he looks unsatiated, Dirk removes his lips and relinquishes his hold on Jake's hand. "... You get really awful hat hair."

"Sod off." The adventurer's tone is stern, but joking all the same, as signified by the large smirk on his face. "So long, old chap."

"Catch you later." Nodding at Jake one last time, Dirk opens the door and makes his departure.

The second the door clicks shut, Jake releases a relieved sigh. Well. That was uncomfortable, frightening, and exhilarating all at once. In other words, despite being with a man, it felt just like any other romantic outing normally does to him.

All of this secrecy, this subtly... It's all so forboding, yet so enthralling...

He still has his cautions regarding their blossoming relationship, of course, but... He could _definitely_ get used to this. Just like the good old days, back on his island...

... Only this time, Dirk Strider is his beloved source of adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for the feedback. :]


	12. Chapter 12

With an aggravated urgency, Jake turns the dial on his radio down toward the "off" position, eyes narrowing distastefully as the last few words to greet his ears embed themselves into his mind.

"Perverted queers", indeed... Pah! All this nonsensical butchery is enough to nauseate him. Why, he and Dirk are no more perverted than any other average man on this earth. Neither of them would ever pursue other people that way. They hardly even make sexual quips at each other (apart from Dirk's occasional hint-dropping).

It's all absurd, but, unfortunately, there's nothing that can be done about it.

"Jake?" Jane lightly prods him on the shoulder, a look of concern spreading across her small features. "Is everything okay?"

"Hm...? Oh, well enough..." He sighs distantly, leaning back in the little wooden chair by the counter. The two rest in the Crocker family bakery, setting up shop before it reopens after a month of remodeling. "Just have a lot on the noggin, that's all."

Jane gives a pitying half-smile, patting him gently on the back of the shoulder. "Just don't overwork that noggin too much, Jake."

"Yeah... Thanks, Jane." Returning the smile half-heartedly, he flops his head back, running a hand absently through his dark hair. His thoughts are as erratic and frantic as ever. "I think my boss was close to firing me yesterday. Never seen the looney bastard so hot and bothered before..."

"Gosh! What did you do?"

"He was obviously sour in the first place." Jake shrugs. "Then we started squabbling about the working conditions... Blimey, it was awful. And the chap spits something awful when he's angry." He shudders.

Jane sighs lightly at his last few words. It's no wonder why he was almost fired, then. Of course, Jake realizes his error, but this doesn’t comfort him in the slightest. Why, he could easily lose his job before long, homosexual or not.

"And then there's all this business with Dirk..." Kneading his temples, Jake contorts his face into an expression of utmost uncertainty.  His fingers absently tap against the arm of the chair. “Forgive my botherations, but that’s all sorts of baffling…”

She nibbles her lower lip, trying to muster up the least offensive way to put her thoughts into words. “Well, Jake, you and I both know that love isn’t your strongest suit…”

This earns a befuddled glance from Jake. “What do you mean?”

“On our first date, you spent the _whole_ time rambling about how you finally grew a mustache.”

“I thought you liked mustaches!”

“Not when you spent two hours babbling about them." 

Jake lets out a melancholic sigh, removing his glasses and wiping them clean on the hem of his shirt. “Golly, Jane, what am I going to do? We’ve been seeing each other for two months. We’ve been on three romantic outings. But, half of the time, I feel like we aren’t getting anywhere. What the devil am I supposed to do?”

“Well-“

“It’s because we’re both blokes, I bet. A man and a man in love? Pah! It was doomed from the start…”

“Jake!” Taking his face in her hands, Jane forces his head to turn toward her, looking into his eyes with a stern gleam in her own. “Gee willikers, Jake! Listen to me. Why don’t you think it’s working?”

“I don’t know…” His gaze falters, drifting from her eyes toward his feet. “It just doesn’t feel like a relationship should, you know? It feels like it does every time I try hitting it off with someone.”

Slowly, Jane releases her hold on his face, a faint pink growing on her cheeks. Turning around, she continues to clean off the countertop, firmly grasping the feather duster in her nimble hand. 

He speaks again, voice growing quiet out of fear for passersby overhearing through the thin walls of the bakery. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

“Jake…” She peers back at him, saddened and pitying.

“What am I doing wrong, Jane? Fuckall, I’m so confused…” He slides his glasses back up his nose, blinking a few times as he adjusts to the clarity once again.

She bites her lip again, uncertain of what to say. Here she is, assisting the man she holds affection for with dating advice. How unfortunate. “Are you giving him your all?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” She taps her chin lightly in thought. “When we were going steady, you never seemed very willing… I mean, you plumb didn’t give much. You hardly ever kissed me… Golly, Jake, remember our second date? I asked _you_ out!” She blushes again and adds quietly, “I’m not supposed to have to do that…”

“But Dirk’s a man.”

“But you aren’t a woman.”

A gradual realization flickers across his face, and his eyes slowly widen in understanding. He hasn’t made the effort to keep the relationship together.  The three times they’ve gone out for dinner, Dirk had been the one to ask. Dirk has initiated almost every aspect of their relationship, apart from Jake’s initial confession. “Egad, Jane, you’re right!” A vivid grin spreads upon his lips. “You’re bloody brilliant!”

Her mouth opens to speak, yet the words die on her tongue as her body is suddenly enveloped in a pair of strong arms. Jake is hugging her tightly, lightly laughing his head off in happiness; it is a friendly embrace, yet, despite her affections, she would have it no other way. Jake is happy, and, (very) deep down, that is all that matters to her. “… It was nothing. Happy to help.”

“You’re a lifesaver!” Relinquishing his hold on Jane, Jake places his hat atop his head and slips his shoes back on. “I owe you one, Jane. Oh, can you manage here on your own now?”

She softly nods her head. “I think so. Dad should be here in a jiffy. Bye, Jake.”

“Yeah… see you.” Smiling at her one last time, Jake opens the door and makes his exit, determination swelling in his gut. He’s going to do it, he tells himself. He’s going to ask Dirk out today. It’ll be brilliant. Granted, he isn’t sure where to go, or what to do… But it’s still early! Such questions can be easily answered with some reasonable time to think.

Better look out, Dirk Strider. Jake English is in hot pursuit.

~*~*~*~

“Dirk!”

Night falls.

It takes little to no time for Jake to reach Dirk’s humble apartment building after his lengthy considerations, and so it is that he practically gallops up each and every step in search of the correct room. Upon his arrival to the third floor, he rushes over to the door and gives a hard knock, panting from his previously hurried state. “Dirk? Are you home?” he calls, knocking once more. Strange, he thinks. He saw Black Beauty (ugh, that _name_ …) in the parking lot... A renewed worry swelling in the pit of his stomach, he takes the knob in his hand and hesitantly turns it; it’s unlocked.

Swallowing, he throws the door open, peeking into the main living area, which is almost entirely dark and lit only faintly by the moonlight seeping through the closed curtains; a blanketed lump rests on the couch, and the television dimly glows in front of it. “Dirk?” He steps inside, placing his coat, hat, and shoes on the coat rack beside the doormat.  Walking silently, Jake slinks over to the couch, peering over the back and meeting a pair of tired carroty eyes. “Ah, there you are… Crikey, Dirk, you look awful!”

“Stayed late at work last night; didn't get home until seven this morning...” As if provoked, a large, echoing yawn slips past his chapped winter lips. Stretching his arms out above his head, Dirk reaches up and slips a hand beneath Jake’s jaw, stroking a single finger down the bone and back up again. “… And I got that promotion.”

“Really? That’s terrific!” Jake grins toothily at him, leaning further over the back of the couch and absently batting Dirk’s hand away; the latter takes no offense to it, as it’s become a bit of a ritual to the two of them. “But, shucks, you still look awful.”

“You’re not dazzling either, English.” Sitting up, Dirk scoots over to leave room for his boyfriend, shuddering as the blanket falls from his upper half; despite being fully clothed, it _is_ November, and regardless of the forty-degree temperature, it’s relatively chilly for a Texan-blooded man such as himself.

Jake comes around the sofa and takes the empty seat beside Dirk, eyeing the television with curiosity. “No way! Is this _Cisco Kid_?” His face lights up and his smile widens.  “It was filmed in color, too! I haven’t watched this yet.. Is it good?”

“I just started watching it today." Dirk's orange gaze settles on Jake's face, which the latter takes notice of almost immediately. "Why did you come over here?"

"Oh, right!" Snapping his fingers, Jake leans back and scoots closer to Dirk, earning a cocked eyebrow from the Strider. "I came by to ask you to dinner..."

Both of Dirk's brows lift upward now, though his otherwise stoic expression remains exactly that. A mild sweat breaks out on Jake's forehead, for he is yet unable to discern whether or not the eyebrow-raising is a positive expression or not. It really just depends on the situation. "I mean, you obviously don't feel too swell, so maybe not dinner... But we could at least enjoy each other's company." Oh, Dirk hasn't broken his intense stare and, golly, is it driving Jake absolutely bonkers inside...

Finally, after a moment more of that orange gaze bearing into his own, Dirk speaks, steady and smooth and succulent to Jake's eardrums. "... Sure. Stick around for a while. But not for too long."

"Alright... Great." Fidgeting in his lap, Jake readjusts his position on the couch and fixates his eyes upon the television, entirely absorbed by the fantastic, vibrant colors on the screen. "Just think, mate. Someday, all showsㅡ all movies, too... I bet they'll all be in color. Red prairies, green grass, blue women..."

"Blue women?" Dirk's tone grows mildly incredulous. 

Jake lets loose a guffaw of mild embarrassment. "You're better off not knowing." The other man's eyes linger on him a bit longer, clearly wanting to press the subject further, though making no motion to do so. Instead, he sniffs, a phlegmy, nasty noise sounding as he does so, causing Jake to peer over in concern.

Looks like Dirk isn't feeling as chipper and healthy as he's making out to be.

"Don't look at me like that." Dirk glances sidelong at the other male, pulling the blanket further up his body once more. "I have allergies."

Jake wordlessly passes him the tissue box on the coffee table.

As Dirk reaches for a tissue, Jake suddenly pulls it back with an exclaimed "no!" slipping past his lips. They exchange bewildered stares, neither entirely certain what to do. Jake is perplexed as to what to follow that up with, and why he even said something so stupid, while the latter is utterly dumbfounded as to why the _freaking hell_ he can't have a bloomin' _Kleenex_. "U-Uh..." Jake swallows visibly, blinks, and sets the tissue box in front of Dirk, between them, on the couch. "I mean, no, I didn't... I'm not... Oh, Christ, just forget it!"

Needless to say, Jake's inner conscience is presently tying him to a Slinky and sending him down a long flight of steep, concrete stairs.

Tearing his eyes from the adventurer, Dirk withdraws a tissue from the box and blows his nose, tossing the soiled Kleenex onto the floor and curling up against the arm of the couch. Allergies, late-night work shifts, sinusitis... It's no wonder Dirk looks so discolored and exhausted. The poor lad has spent the past however-many-hours in absolute misery. Surely there's _something_ he can do to improve his mood? If even only slightly?

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Jake reaches out and gingerly nudges Dirk's shoulder. "Hey, anything I can get you?"

The latter simply shakes his head, allowing his eyelids to slip shut. "I'm good... Thanks, Jake."

"Dont sweat it, old chap..."

"'Old'?" The eye that isn't pressed into the armrest peers open again. "You're older than me, remember?"

"That's hardly relev-"

"Blue women."

"Oh, bugger off, you looney dipstick..." Jake lightly punches Dirk in the side, earning a smirk from the blonde.

"Forget sleeping..." he murmurs into the armrest, turning onto his back and glancing half-lidded up at Jake, still wearing that subtle, smug-as-all-hell smirk of his. "No chance of catching some z's with you going on about freaky blue space gals."

"You're the one who brought it up again! And who said they were from space?"

"How many human chicks do you see walking down the street with blue skin?"

"... Point taken." Rolling his eyes, Jake scoots himself closer, looming over Dirk's tightly bundled form with a large grin. "Guess that means the chances of you dyeing yourself blue are slim?"

"Nonexistent, actually," Dirk responds flatly, leaning up on his elbow and taking Jake by the nape of the neck; he gives another congested sniff. "I'm already the living embodiment of sex. You can't ask for much more than a Strider."

Jake's ears go red, though it doesn't show (thank the heavens for the darkness enveloping them). "Maybe I'm not asking for more _than_ you, but rather for more _of_ you."

Dirk's lips part to retort again, yet the only noise to escape from his throat is a strained jumble of once-words as Jake bridges the gap between them, moving his lips carefully against the Strider's. They've kissed, though nothing more than a brief peck. Nothing like this.

As Jake pulls back uncertainly, Dirk leans up and tugs him back in, snaking his freed hands up the front of Jake's torso and ushering forth a contented sigh from his lover. Their lips remain joined, soft and clumsy and unsure, rhythmically sliding across each other until, at last, they separate to take in little gasps of air. 

Both men stare at one another, winded and overwhelmed, neither daring so much as a flinch. A fleeting glanceㅡ a staggered breath passes between them. They remain thusly, panting, trembling, until Dirk breaks the silence with a small bout of coughing. The sudden sound snaps Jake from his previous reverie; he sits upright and refocuses his eyes on the television, which now reveals a black and white rerun of some show he has never seen before.

For once, television is the last thing on his mind, and with a quick lick of the mouth, his heart leaps up into his throat.

Dirk's taste still lingers on his lips.

It's an odd mixture of chapstick wax, cough syrup, and something else indescribable. Not the most appealing flavor combination, but so entirely composed of everything _Dirk_ that Jake cannot help but crave it.

He gives a short swallow and glances back over at his boyfriend, who has scooted himself nearer and settled into the crease of the couch cushions. Curling up again, Dirk slowly closes his eyes. Words need not be spoken; enough has already been said.

So it is, relishing in each other's presence, that the two men shall drift soundly into their dreams, swallowed up by the sweet safety of the dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cisco Kid- The first television series filmed in color.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. Writer's block is awful. I rewrote this chapter six times. Anyway, thank you all for holding out, and for commenting/leaving kudos. :]

Hours, days, months pass with a swift farewell, blowing along on the nippy winter winds as December changes to January, and 1951 dawns upon them at last. The triumph and turmoil of the previous year has been pleasant enough for Jake, but between the love issues and Roxy’s being laid off and all of that folly… Well, it’s nice to start over.

Turns out Roxy got a job at a little malt shop on the outskirts of their suburb (she admitted it plainly whilst drunk one evening after work). She now works with her waitressing partner Calliope, and has been in much higher spirits since getting a new job. Jake suspects she simply couldn’t stand being so bored all day.

Jane and her dad reopened the bakery, and it’s been doing splendidly these past months, after they started making their own hot chocolate to go with the sugary confections. Profits seem to be rolling in for the Crocker family, and, at long last, Jane can afford to move out of her father’s home and into a place of her own. She now resides in a little suburban house, a few streets down from Jake.

Poor Dirk has been a bit under the weather more often than normal. The Strider assures them that it’s only from the cold weather, never mind the fact the allergies are typically more dormant in the wintertime. The doctors finally seem to understand that antibiotics aren’t going to cut it (antibiotics have been all the rage lately, it seems), and have started him on some other kind of horse-pill medication. Otherwise, he’s slowly but surely climbing up to become his boss’ right-hand man at the mechanic shop. It’s nice to see that he’s finally finding his niche.

He and Jake have been seeing each other officially for almost four months, and things couldn’t be better between them, an aspect that even Jake is having the utmost difficulty in fully comprehending. They hang out quite often now, here and there, whenever their schedules allow for it. Needless to say, they still cannot perform any public acts of affection for one another, and don’t go out in public together all that often to begin with. Thankfully, it seems as though nobody has really noticed how frequently they hang out (or, if they have, nobody has bothered mentioning it aloud).

Things for Jake have been boring, but these little sprinklings of glee are enough to assure him just what a superb year this is truly going to be.

~*~*~*~

“What a ripsnorter of a movie!” Jake peers excitedly up at the large screen as it fades to black, and gives a brief round of applause from within the confinement of Dirk’s Ambassador. “Seriously, that was bloody _amazing!_ ”

“You think every movie you watch is a masterpiece.” Dirk rolls his eyes lightly from behind his sunglasses; the eye motion is made plenty evident by his subtly rising straw eyebrows.

Jake peers back at him with a stubborn snort, folding his arms over his chest in mock offense. “Do not.”

“Prove me wrong.”

That brings Jake to a halt, and an expression of deep thought comes to rest on his face. Does he really dislike a single movie? None of the films he and Dirk have seen at the drive-in theater thus far have been bad by any means. And prior to that, any movies he had seen were all critically-acclaimed… Why, before moving to the States, he had never even heard of movies, let alone seen any. So, no, he decides, none of the movies he has seen have been bad in any way.

His trance is broken by a stifled, hissing laugh from Dirk’s direction. Glancing over at the Strider, Jake notices the way Dirk covers his mouth with his gloved hand, the way his eyebrows have snuck back beneath his shades as his eyes clench tight. The rotten bloke is laughing at him; oh, the nerve. “Hey, now…” Jake says warningly, though cannot resist the contagious laughter that forces itself past his lips. Soon they are chuckling together, each in their own respective manners, savoring in the loose, teasing atmosphere that they can thrive freely in. The other cars in the lot begin to pull out, and it isn’t long before they are left by themselves in the middle of the theater (save for a couple of teenagers having a rowdy time in the car across the way, but then, these drive-ins are infamous for such things).

“You wanker…” Jake manages to utter between gasps, laughter finally dying down, yet the delight remains apparent in his eyes. It is in times like these that he fully relishes his relationship with the man, despite the secrecy and shame it should bring with it. However, since both of them are technically closeted to prying public eyes, moments alone like this are nothing short of grand.

 He reaches out and lightly nudges Dirk’s shoulder with his own, smirking mischievously, alluringly, as though daring the other man to so much as prod him with the tip of a finger. He knows perfectly well that Dirk has some pre-existing skills of the strife variety, though from what he isn’t entirely certain (did pilots from WWII even need basic hand-to-hand combat training?). All he really knows is that he has always had a knack with close-range combat, something that Jake finds to be a bit enticing.

Dirk takes the bait almost instantly; he probably knows Jake is tempting him, but he clearly doesn’t mind by any means. Lips quirking upward in the slightest of smirks, the blonde lurches forward suddenly, tackling Jake backwards; the latter bumps his head uncomfortably against the door and his hat slips out from his head, tumbling over his face and onto the floor. Their hands connect, pushing against each other as Jake tries in vain to push himself back up into a sitting position, grinning widely all the while. “Cripes, Dirk!” he manages to grunt out, voice strained as he pushes up again, managing to raise his shoulders from the seat at the very least. “I thought you were a pilot?”

“I was.”

“Then why-?” He pulls himself up a little more; Dirk pushes harder down in response, bending his knees more for greater leverage.

“Dave and I trained each other when we were younger. Been practicing ever since.”  He pushes harder, though by way Jake is slowly sitting himself upright more, it’s pretty obvious that Jake is still the stronger of the two.

“Almost gotcha beat, my friend.” Jake smirks wider, eyes narrowing in near-victory. At this point, he is almost sitting upright, with only his lower back and buttocks remaining on the seat. They are being entirely ridiculous, and they know it; grown men shouldn’t be this rowdy, this childish, and yet they couldn’t care less. “Better think fa- _mmph_!”

And think fast he does, for before Jake can even complete his sentence, Dirk has captured Jake’s lips in his own, forcefully pushing him down onto his back again with his mouth. Jake snorts at the unorthodox manner in which Dirk has outfoxed him, though these thoughts cloud up in his head soon enough.

Dirk looms over him still; his nimble hands have slithered out from Jake’s grasp, and now brush down the other man’s shoulders, grabbing them and tugging him gently closer to his lips. Hooking his arms around Dirk’s torso, Jake returns the gesture, a spark of heat blazing in his cheeks as he slides his hands up the other’s back. Dirk’s heart beats recklessly under his fingertips, frenetic and troubled; a shiver racks his body beneath Jake’s hot touch. Everything about this ordeal is so outlandish and alluring and _god_ , the heat is almost unbearable. Instinct tapping in, Jake leans up more, wincing a little as their glasses clack together; he takes the initiative to break off briefly, removing his own specs and pulling Dirk in for another long kiss. Their lips connect again, and the warmth instantly settles in once more, pooling in their faces; Jake flushes with mild shame as it pools elsewhere as well, but his thoughts are far too consumed for any sort of embarrassment. His hands disconnect from Dirk’s back; one falls behind to hold Jake up into a leaning sit, while the other drifts upward, grabbing the blonde’s hair in his fingers and pulling him nearer still.

A paralysis ensnares Jake’s lungs as Dirk’s tongue prods out to flick across his lower lip, and he almost sputters in alarm. However, despite his lack of expectation, he parts his lips compliantly and digs his fingertips further into Dirk’s skull; his own tongue timidly meets the other’s midway, and it takes all of Jake’s willpower to hold himself upright at this point.

The urge to ravish the Strider’s every fiber has _never_ felt this prominent before.

Dirk trembles above him, chest heaving and face reddening deeply; Jake takes this as a good sign, though the both of them are incredibly clumsy in their advances. On more than one occasion, teeth clack, or give an accidental bite, but neither of these is enough to break them apart just yet. As Dirk lowers himself further down, Jake leans back and groans blissfully, plunging his tongue forward and breaching the other’s lips at last, rubbing along Dirk’s teeth and earning a faint, wheezed gasp.

With a jolt, Dirk shoves Jake away and slides back into his own seat, clutching at the collar of his shirt. The other man is snapped from the hypnosis of their rather heated session, staring at the blonde with a disoriented stupor. Why did he just…? Surely Jake didn’t go too far? Oh, golly, what if that’s the problem? He didn’t even consider for a second that a man would possibly feel violated or heaven forbid, _turned off_ by getting some tongue-to-tongue action from his boyfriend. Giving a deflated frown, Jake straightens himself out and leans forward, peering over at Dirk with a concerned glint in his eyes. “Dirk? Hey, mate, are you alright…?”

“Jake.” His eyes reel, falling on Jake with a fearful glare. His body convulses once, twice, and doubles over; his swollen lips are parted with desperation, and a horrific gasping elicits a cough here and there as his lungs plead for oxygen. “Ja…” His sunglasses clatter onto the steering wheel and plunge to the floor as he lurches forward again.

A horror strikes Jake point-blank in the chest. What the hell is happening to him? Is it something Jake did? Has he somehow, in his lack of experience in the making-out field, inadvertently injured Dirk? He reaches out with wobbly limbs, eyes large and bright and glossed with gossamer worry. “Dirk? Oh hell… Dirk, breathe!”

“ _Drive_.” His voice rasps out as firmly as it can, and he flails his arm toward the steering wheel, wheezy breaths coming out at an unnaturally quick pace now. He manages to flop sideways, making room for Jake to take the wheel and find help.

Fully quaking now, Jake scoots around Dirk and switches seats with him, starting the vehicle and driving out toward the exit. He hasn’t driven a car in about a year now, but like hell is he about to let something like bad driving hold him back from getting Dirk relief.

What is happening to the Strider? He’s never exhibited signs of breathing issues before, has he..? Not that Jake can recall. All the same, the hospital isn’t too far… Even if, in this era, medicines and practices are a bit unreliable, it is better than nothing, surely.

Unless… Well, would they not admit Dirk for being so peculiar? Perhaps it would be wise to rough up the other man’s hair and hide his pointy shades, just in case. Jake has heard of places denying assistance to homosexuals, and immigrants, and other such minorities… Oh golly, what if they deny _him_? He’s pretty clearly not of local soil, considering his thick accent and tanned complexion…

No, no. This is not the sort of thinking that he should be doing. Right now, getting Dirk assistance is the only thing on his mind, his only priority.

The Strider curls up beside his companion, grasping at his pant leg and still breathing huskily.

His eyelids slip shut.

~*~*~*~

Hour pass in the waiting room of the hospital, but such hours feel agonizingly slow to poor Jake English, who sits fretting his head off in a rather uncomfortable little wooden chair. How is Dirk doing? This question plays on repeat in his mind like a broken vinyl, and he absently scratches at his arm in a worried habit, to the point that the skin begins to rash up and burn. The man behind the front desk has the radio turned on, and it’s tuned in to some channel talking about a baseball game that was played today between the Cardinals and the Pirates, and in all honesty, Jake just wants to beat the man over the head with the damned thing.

Oh, confound it.

He really should call Roxy and Jane, though this entire worrisome situation is hard enough without those two. He loves them both dearly, but Roxy isn’t even sober half of the time, and Jane is always so busy anyway… Well, perhaps it would be better to tell them all after Dirk is pronounced alive and well.

Speaking of which, a nurse came in about an hour ago to say that Dirk was simply having an asthma attack, possibly triggered by his allergies, and that he would probably be alright.

Probably.

Fuck probability, Jake thinks bitterly. Probability is naught but a pincushion, and he might as well be sticking his head beneath the sewing needle. Probability is simply a device to get his hopes up, to make him feel comfortable, right before Dirk dies and leaves him alone and ultimately crushes him beneath a weight of guilt and depression.

“Jake English?”

At long last, the nurse opens the door and beckons for the man to come toward her. He eagerly complies, eyeing her with nervousness, though it does ease a bit as she smiles gently at him. She would be mightily pretty, he thinks, were he not currently fretting over the man whose love could land him in jail or worse.

“How is he?”

“He’s doing well, sir.” She smiles again, though he cannot help but wonder how genuine is truly is. “Just some asthma. He’ll be okay, but we want him to spend the night to make sure it doesn’t relapse.”

Dirk is okay.

Dirk is… okay?

Oh, thank the heavens above…

Jake exhales slowly, relief washing over him like a cleansing spring. No more worrying. No more guilt. This isn’t his fault; well, perhaps it is, since he and Dirk were sort of… _exhilarated_ , but regardless…

Oh, screw it, Dirk is okay.

“Can I go back and see him?” he asks, nibbling the inside of his cheek. He hopes dearly that this doesn’t sound too suspicious or strange to her…

Thankfully, she nods her head at him and turns away. “He’s in the room on the end, 1F9.”

“Thanks.” Nodding his gratitude, he passes the nurse and retreats down the hall, resisting all urges to run straight into the room, scoop up his damsel (damsel…?) and escape into the starlight with their lips eternally connected. The idea is quite appealing, but, somehow, he isn’t so certain Dirk and the rest of society would approve.

Well, actually, Dirk might. One can never be sure about the Strider.

Reaching the end of the hall, Jake pushes the door ajar slightly with his palm, in case Dirk is snoozing after such a traumatic situation. The Strider’s eyes are shut, though it’s clear by his absent head-bobbing that he’s fully awake and functional (and apparently has a song in his head, but all the better, no?). Licking his lips, Jake shuts the door behind him and steps inside; as it closes with a _click_ , one of Dirk’s orange eyes peers open at him, wide at first, but relaxing almost instantly. His eyes squeeze tight again, and he motions to a bedside table on his left. “I can’t reach my shades and it’s bright as all hell in here.”

Jake rolls his eyes lightly, though cannot stop the small smile that creeps onto his face. It isn’t bright at all, actually. “They aren’t on the table. I grabbed them and put ‘em in my jacket.” He withdraws the pair of sunglasses from his coat and unfolds them, reaching out to slide them onto Dirk’s nose. The other man blinks a few times and gives a satiated sigh.

“Better, thanks.” Dirk reaches up and ruffles the other man’s hair, sighing again and peering up at him with tired veiled eyes. “You okay, though? Freaked you out a little, huh?”

“Nah. Not at all.” The sarcasm is nice and evident on his voice. Jake snorts lightly and pulls up a chair beside Dirk, flippantly prodding the other’s arm in a subconscious effort to assure himself that Dirk is still here, living and fleshy, before him. “You scared the dickens out of me.”

“What _is_ a “dicken”, anyway?” Dirk inquires smugly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“No idea.” Jake grins, buck teeth bared clearly as his lips curl upward. “Good to have you back, Strider.”

Dirk slides his arm down a bit and takes Jake’s hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the palm; he intertwines their fingers and repeats the process, perhaps wishing to finish what they had started back in the vehicle. “Good to _be_ back, English. Not gonna lie; that was freaking–”

The door creaks open behind Jake, and a woman’s startled scream shrilly strikes their ears. The adventurer twists around, eyes wide as saucers as he realizes, with a frenzied heart, that one of the nurses has entered to give Dirk more medication.

And his hand remains lovingly pressed up against Dirk’s parted mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, things get gritty and bitter from here on out. You've been warned.


	14. Chapter 14

Their secret is out.

The nurse and Jake exchange bewildered stares, frozen in place like this for quite some time; soon, however, she drags her gaze slowly over toward Dirk, whose lips are still pressed firmly to Jake’s fingers, hands interwoven in place. Of the three of them, none dare so much as a peep, all eyeing one another in absolute shock and brimming with uncertainty of how to deal with this situation.

 _She knows…_ Finally snapping back to his senses, Jake jerks his hand, yet it does not budge; Dirk’s hold remains steadfast and possessive. Glaring back at the blonde, Jake whirls his head around to tell him off, but finds the other’s eyes to be fixated on the nurse instead, unwavering, as though challenging her so much as stick her tongue out in disgust. The two remain as such, glaring at one another, until a doctor calls for the nurse, and she must depart. With a scowl, she spins on her heel and scampers away, purposely leaving the door wide open behind her.

As she exits the room and leaves them to their troubles, Jake turns back around, glaring at his boyfriend and struggling to wriggle his hand free of Dirk’s strong hold. “What do you think you’re doing, Strider? Are you bloomin' nuts?”

“Are you alright?” Dirk speaks quietly, though his voice quivers; from the asthma trauma or the recent revelation, Jake is not certain. The blonde gazes softly up at his companion, though those blasted shades of his mask the genuine loving expression in his eyes. “Hey, dude, breathe…”

“Breathe! Hah! What hilarity! Quite the ironic gutbuster, huh?” His sarcasm makes the latter shiver. “Don’t give me that bullshittery! This is serious, Dirk! God... someone knows! Did you see her face? She’s disgusted..." Jake's hand goes limp in Dirk's grasp as the weight of the situation pushes down harder upon his shoulders. The panic in his voice fades, and the tone grows hushed, a terrified sort of quiet. “Oh, Dirk… Golly, now what do we do?”

Finally releasing his hold on Jake’s hand, Dirk shakes his head slowly, mind reeling and fingers twitching at his sides. “… I don’t know. But we’ll be alright, I can tell you that much.”

It takes a great amount of resistance on Jake’s part to avoid grabbing Dirk by the shoulders and shaking him senseless. How can they possibly be “alright”, with this new turn of events? “Dirk, you’re insane…”

“You’ve said that before.” Dirk takes Jake’s hand in his own again, giving it a reassuring squeeze and meeting the other’s eyes. “Just calm down.”

As Jake’s lips part to retort with seething irritation, the nurse reenters, accompanied by a middle-aged doctor with a bit of a limp. Jake’s heart all but stops, and yet again he realizes that his hand has been taken in Dirk’s.

_Goddamn, Dirk! Let go!_

The doctor takes a step into the room, a scowl tugging at his lips and twisting his wrinkles in a rather unappealing fashion. “Sirs, we need to ask you to leave immediately.”

“What?” Jake cannot help himself; he’s irate, in part due to Dirk’s nonchalance. How can the Strider be so gosh darned _calm_ in this sort of situation? “You have no right! Dirk needs to rest up. He could have another relapse…”

“We don’t treat queers.” The nurse’s tone is flat, unemotional, and overall so offhand that Jake begins to wish he had his trusty pistols with him. “Get out before we call the police.”

Oh, confound it…! How can these people be so cruel– so damned _pigheaded_ – about their own sexuality that they go to such extreme measures? Throwing out a recovering patient for kissing the hand of another man? To Jake, it is far more repulsive than any act of love between two people of the same sex. They might as well be condemning him to death. Jake’s fists clench at his sides, and he lifts an arm up slightly (to slap? To thrash his arms? Even he is uncertain…).

Dirk’s fingers curl around his bicep suddenly, firmly squeezing with an adamant warning. Sitting slowly upright, the blonde scoots to the edge of the mattress and steadily stands himself up, using Jake’s arm for support as he wavers a little in exhaustion. All of this struggling must have taken a great toll on his body. Frowning, Jake wrings his arm free of Dirk’s hold and steps forward.

His lips part to speak, but finds the words dying repeatedly on his tongue. What can he say? He might as well be preaching to the choir. This is nothing unexpected; the vast majority of people view homosexuality as a mental illness, or a sin… He and Dirk are no more than mental patients, atheists even, by some peoples’ definition…

Wordlessly, he shoves roughly past the two staffers and tromps down the hall, not so much as glancing back when Dirk calls his name.

This is all so overwhelming, so difficult… He knew this day could easily come, the day when everything came pouring out… But never did he anticipate it to be so strenuous, so _agonizing_ … Licking his dried lips, he throws the hospital doors open and steps out, cursing under his breath at the sprinkling of chilly winter rain beginning to trickle from the ebony night sky.

He hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella…

“Jake!” Dirk’s voice meets his ears once more, and the doors push open behind him to reveal the Strider, breathless and confused and all around discontented. “Jake, wait up, would you?”

He does not pause, does not glance back, but continues to walk, jumbled thoughts consuming his every filament of being. This is a disaster, and there is absolutely no way in which the situation can possibly improve; at best, it would remain unchanged, but the likelihood of that is so slim he hardly thinks it counts as a true possibility.

"Jake!"

Upon this third calling of his name, Jake finally slows to a halt, though still refuses to turn and face his lover out of sheer humiliation. His face flushes, and a discomfort feeds parasitically from his heart.

Dirk approaches steadily, careful to avoid straining his lungs too much after today's little episode. "What's the deal, Jake?"

"We're sunk." His voice quivers, body trembling from both the coolness of the rainy night and the unshakeable fright coursing through his veins. "We're over, Dirk..."

"Uh, what?" The other man raises an eyebrow inquiringly at him. "Over? Like hell are we over. You think some homophobic chick with a clipboard is enough to keep us apart?"

"Dirk, would you stop squabbling and lend me your ear for a moment?" Jake sounds defeated, tired, and generally disjointed. This is all simply too much for him to handle at once. "How can you be so bloody indifferent about what just happened?"

Hesitantly, Dirk reaches out and places his hands softly upon Jake's shoulders; the other man flinches skittishly away from the touch, shuddering as those godforsaken fingers raise goose bumps along his skin. Dirk frowns. Jake has never revealed any sort of genuine fear around any of his friends, and the idea is probably a bit perturbing to said peers. "Why are _you_ so paranoid about this?"

"Paranoid? You're a loony!" Jake finally turns around, eyes falling glumly on his lover's puzzled face. "Dirk... I'm not ignorant. I know what they do to homosexuals... To people like us." He licks his lips again, beginning to fidget absently with his fingers. "Oh, great golly, Dirk! They think we're mentally ill!"

"That's a load of crap, and you know it-"

"But they don't. We could be sent away to a psych ward; prodded and probed like animals... Oh _Christ_ , what if they perform lobotomies on us?" He has heard a story or two of the procedure; quite frankly, he doesn't find the idea of people cutting out his brain to be an especially comforting one.

"Jake, you're being ridiculous..." Dirk rolls his eyes and steps forward, pressing their bodies together and resting his chin comfortably upon Jake's shoulder. "They wouldn't perform a lobotomy because you held my hand."

"What's to stop them?" Jake responds bitterly, backing up from Dirk's advances and slinking around to the back of the hospital, away from public view; his boyfriend trails closely behind. "If the doctors tell the police, we could be arrested. We'd be convicted and castrated in a week's time-"

"Sodomy."

That word manages to shut Jake's ramblings up for a moment. "Pardon?"

"You're thinking of sodomy." Dirk shrugs, folding his arms across his chest and leaning casually back against the wall. "If we were caught having sex, we could be arrested and all that. But we weren't. As long as we keep a low profile, we should be fine."

The aspect catches Jake slightly off-guard, though it _does_ , admittedly, make sense. Sodomy is already illegal; for two men to perform the act would only make the consequences worse. "But they could still arrest us without basis." He utters a deep sigh, running a hand through his drenched, matted hair. The hospital has their names and whatnot, so it wouldn't be hard for someone to track them down. He would lose his job as well, if word got around to the boss.

"Hey, Jake?" Dirk speaks at last, gaze falling upon the other man with a gentle curiosity in that otherwise-impassive expression of his. "How long have we been seeing each other?"

"Um... Four months? A little more, maybe?"

"Hm." Grunting, Dirk nods his head a few times, face growing slightly distant as he comes to momentarily gaze over at Jake. An awkward silence falls between them again, neither entirely certain what to say. What more _can_ be said? Jake is freaked out and slightly angry, and Dirk... Well, really, who knows with him?

"We should get home." Dirk finally speaks, jerking his head once toward Black Beauty parked in the lot nearest the hospital building. "Think you can drive?"

"Yeah... Sure."

The drive back to Jake's house is a near-silent one, both men a bit overwhelmed by the chaos of earlier and the prospect of what could become. Has Dirk even realized the gravity of what could happen, in the event that they were caught and arrested? Jake suspects that, perhaps, the blonde did not, prior to his pointing out that they could indeed be detained without having sex.

That would also explain Dirk's unwillingness to release his hand when the nurse had walked in.

He's proud, Jake decides. Proud to be homosexual, proud to have such a dapper young man as Jake English at his side... Come to think of it, he's always been a proud fellow. Who else could walk around every day looking so ridiculous, with those glasses and that hair? His care-factor is at zero, and he dares anyone to come at him with an insult. Perhaps Jake has always known; it just never really became as prominent before today.

Thankfully, the rain has stopped by the time they reach Jake's pumpkin abode. Turning off the vehicle, Jake hands the keys to Dirk and opens the car door; the other man does the same and steps out to, at the very least, walk him to the door.

"Hey, Jake." Grabbing at the other's hand, Dirk stops them on the porch, seeking out his lover's face in the darkness cast by the night sky hovering above their heads. "Whatever goes down these next months, whether we're arrested, or whatever else... Thanks."

"’Thanks’?" Jake cocks an eyebrow at him, fumbling with the house keys in his hand. His own mood has improved only slightly, though, considering the gravity of the situation, he supposes he has his chipper English blood to thank for that much. "For what?"

"For even giving me the chance to try loving you, when you knew something like this could happen."

Those words wring and twist Jake's heart up inside his chest. Does Dirk expect him to simply drop him, purely out of incapability to deal with the situation at hand? Surely the Strider knows him better than that? Jake English is no quitter, whatever the stakes, and the fact that the other would think such a thing is incredibly saddening to him. His gaze falls upon his lover, studying the other's expressionless face in search of some sort of sign, anything to indicate what could possibly be going on in that peculiar head of his. "Dirk...?"

“Yeah?” The blonde peers up at him, stoic as ever behind those darned sunglasses (at times, it is Jake's largest desire to do away with those shades once and for all).

"Dirk, I'm not calling our relationship off, if that’s what you think."

That seems to catch the other man slightly off-guard, for he falters slightly and makes a small noise in the back of his throat. Jake’s suspicions have been confirmed; he almost gawks himself at how well he had actually read Dirk’s intentions.

"You thought all of this would split us up?” Something inside of Jake deflates as the revelation is made. Either Dirk hasn’t a shred of hope left (which, given his strange medical condition and his general homosexuality, is a possibility), or their relationship is more disjointed than he ever would have hoped. “Gee… mate, I didn't realize...” Oh, what is he supposed to say now? Dirk has since dropped his gaze to the floor, and he seems as incapable of speaking as Jake. 

His chapped lips part, and the adventurer is proven dearly wrong. “I didn’t think we would last _this_ long, actually.”

His words strike Jake particularly hard this time; as much as he hates to admit it, they sting. “What?”

“I figured it was worth a try; “what the hell”, right?” Dirk wipes at some leftover rainwater on his arm. “It was too good to be true when you said we could see each other. I hardly believed you and I would actually hit it off for so long.”

“Dirk… What are you saying?”

“God, I don’t know, English!” Dirk’s voice raises momentarily, but he instantly puts it back in check, cool and collected as always. “I guess I’m asking if you think all of this between us is worth it. I wouldn’t blame you if you walked out; I don’t want to endanger you. I’d live with whatever choice you make, just like I did for the first two years. We could–“

Dirk’s final words die upon his tongue as Jake pulls him swiftly forward, enveloping the blonde’s body with his arms and hugging him tight. “Stop talking, Strider.” Gradually, reluctantly, Dirk’s arms raise and loop loosely around Jake’s body; a sigh passes his lips as he slowly soothes himself by the steady sound of Jake’s breathing. “Dirk, you dingbat, I love you. I’m an English; it’s gonna take more than some nurse’s daft prejudice to split us up.”

“Jake… Damn it…” The blonde holds him tighter, running one of his hands through the other’s hair in a way that calms himself more than the other man. “So you’re serious? About all of this?”

“Of course I am…” Jake shakes his head incredulously, grateful for the darkness hiding them from public view as they embrace on the front porch. Dirk genuinely didn’t expect their love to last, did he? He had entered the relationship expecting Jake to leave soon after (to get bored, perhaps, or to discover his lack of attraction to males such as Dirk)… The thought makes Jake swallow hard. “What kind of barmy bastard do you take me for?”

Dirk simply shakes his head back and forth a few times, burying his face shamefully in the other man’s shoulder; Jake almost winces as the pointy shades jab into his neck. They remain briefly silent, apart from the occasional heavy breathing on Dirk’s part; not from asthma, but perhaps due to his own inability to calm down. The Strider breaks the silence, voice muffled slightly by his downturned head, yet still rather loud; it’s clear that he’s given up on masking his emotion at this point, a rare occasion that Jake does not often wish for. “Damn it!” he repeats, louder still, and Jake cannot be certain what it is he is swearing at, per say. He has a few guesses (this situation, his own bottled up frustration with everything, his shame), but dares not speak them.

“You’ll flare up your asthma again…” he mutters instead, awkwardly patting him on the back as they hold each other. “Calm down, Dirk…”

“Don’t remind me…” Dirk snorts drily in response, though his breathing steadily begins to slow, much to Jake’s relief. “Thank you.”

“Hm?” Jake’s head rises, and he slowly pulls away from the hug.

Dirk lightly nudges the other’s shoulder with his palm in a playful push, beginning to calm at last as they separate. Whatever had been troubling him seems to, at last, have subsided for now, and he’s back to his typical, emotionless, sunglass-wearing self. “You’re committed now, you know.”

“Ah, yep! Affirmative on that, you nong.” Jake ruffles Dirk’s greased hair with a large grin, still shaking slightly out of fear and uncertainty, though it’s mostly subdued at this point. Simply being in the other’s vicinity has comforted him a bit.

It comes out flat and toneless, but the desperate, pleading undertone of Dirk’s reply is plenty evident in the way he subconsciously reaches for Jake’s hand again; however, he catches himself in the act this time and places his gloves fingers back at his side.

“Don’t leave me.”

A glumness filling his gut, Jake smiles again, softer than before, and unlocks his front door with a nod. As long as they stick together through whatever may be thrown their way, neither of them need worry.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I should throw in one last update before school starts tomorrow. Though I'm not too certain how this chapter played out; it'll probably be better next chapter. I'm awful when it comes to conversational scenes. ._.
> 
> So! I do plan on writing a accompaniment to this fic once it ends, that will probably involve certain portions from Dirk's POV. If anyone is confused about Dirk's little mental breakdown there at the end, it should be clarified in that story, eventually.
> 
> On a similar note, I wrote a DirkJake oneshot. Not sure how I feel about it just yet, but if you wish to read it, go here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/496908


	15. Chapter 15

It’s a luminous February morning, bright and warm, though not yet uncomfortably so. At long last, the (admittedly mild) winter air has subdued, though it does still swing back around on occasion. The few trees that actually lose their leaves have slowly begun the budding process, and springtime love is heavy in both the cinemas and on the streets. It would seem spring is at last blooming (from the Texan perspective, anyway), and the aspects that travel along the winds with it are both comforting and welcome.

The past few weeks have flitted by with nary a discomfort, nor a fret, and, strangely enough, neither Jake nor Dirk has been so much as approached by anyone with knowledge of their homosexuality. The only explanation is that the hospital chose not to report them to the officials, perhaps out of shame for having admitted and treated such sinners in the first place. It’s also possible that, because they were not caught in the act of sodomy, anyone with power might have chosen not to pursue them. This is more unlikely, but if Dirk was correct about the laws regarding that sort of thing, then it is not to be ruled out either. Regardless of what happened and the manner in which it was disregarded, the two lovers have been more or less free to enjoy the others’ company just as they had prior to being discovered.

All the same, Jake cannot shake the uneasy feeling that lingers in his stomach when they go out in public.

He knows it’s a silly little worry, that he should feel no different about their dates than he did before this mess, but a part of him, however small, finds spending so much time out with another man t be a bit suspicious. As such, he asks that any time that they spend together is passed in either one of their abodes or in the confinement of a private area (such as Black Beauty).

And so it is, upon this lovely February morning, that Jake English and Dirk Strider sit contently within the seclusion of Jake’s bedroom, chit-chatting upon the floor about what could possibly follow in these months to come.

“Well, bugger…” Making a face, Jake leans his head on the other man’s shoulder, absently tapping his forefinger against the squishy carpeting upon which they sit. “ _The Red Badge of Courage_ comes out in a month. I’m psyched; I was hoping we could see it together. I mean, you’re pretty much my movie-going chum now, so…”

“Yeah, the situation bites.” Dirk shrugs, jostling Jake’s chin on his shoulder and making the other wince as he accidentally bites his lip. The former drops a casual apology. “But I haven’t seen Dave in years now. Time to put the shrimp back in place, like a bro’s meant to do...”

“’Shrimp’? Isn’t he twenty-one now…?”

Nodding his head, Dirk scoots over and leans back against the foot of the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him and giving a sleepy yawn. “Yeah, something like that. I’ve lost track. Point is, he wants to talk to me about something. Didn’t say what, but that he’d lay it down straight while I’m out west with him.”

“Hm.” With a reciprocating nod of his own, Jake proceeds to doodle little pictures in the rug, running his upper teeth along his lower lip in thought. “Any clue when you’ll get back?”

“Nope.” Dirk shakes his head. “No idea. He didn’t say. Just know I have to leave tomorrow.”

What a shame, Jake thinks to himself. Well, he supposes quality time with the ladies could benefit them all, as well. He doesn’t see them too often anymore, as work has been quite strenuous lately for them both. “Well, at any rate, should we have one last hoorah before you have to head out?”

One of Dirk’s eyebrows darts upward above his sunglasses in a subtle quirk. “What kind of a “hoorah”?”

~*~*~*~

Well, cleaning out Jake’s closet is not near what either of them had in mind, but it is indeed the task that they end up pursuing together. But perhaps it is not the romance or the appeal of such tasks which allures them to the chore, but rather the idea of simply spending time in the other’s company (with the added pleasure of Jake getting some spring cleaning done on top of it all).

“You have a shit ton of records…” Dirk comments inattentively, placing a box of them in the corner of the closet for the time being. “Might have to swipe a few from you someday.”

“Why?” Giving a feigned frown, Jake wipes some sweat from his forehead with one of Dirk’s kerchiefs, coming up to stand beside the other man. “From what Roxy relays to me, you’re loaded. Go buy your own."

He shrugs, plucking a vinyl from the box and removing it from the sleeve. "I have cash, yeah. It's all being saved back though."

"Hm? For what?"

"You'll see someday." Affectionately, he reaches over to run his fingers once through Jake's hair. "Could be soon. Could be years from now."

One of Jake's eyebrows rises, and a curious smirk grows upon his lips. "Oh? Blimey, what sort of nonsensical balderdash are you plotting, Mr. Strider?"

"I've got a couple of things in mind." Flipping the vinyl in his fingers a few times, Dirk stands and maneuvers around masses of junk, making his way eagerly over to the record player in the far corner of the room. "It all depends."

Clearly, the blonde is avoiding the subject at all costs, an aspect which churns a slight discomfort in the pit of Jake's abdomen. He'd like to think these secrets are over, but he sees the uneasiness in the other's face on occasion; there are still things that the other tries to keep from him for one reason or another, and it is, admittedly, a little deflating.

Regardless, he chooses to temporarily let it slide; if it is of dire importance, Dirk will tell him.

Surely.

From the corner of the room, a loud musical number suddenly blares out at him, enveloping the room in a thick miasma of piano chords. The familiar tune makes him smirk slightly, turning around to face Dirk whilst absently tapping his foot. "Fats?*"

"Yep." The Strider chances a little smirk, humming along for a second. “You can’t beat tunes with a sick vibe.”

“Bloody oath, that.” Be it impulse or capriciousness, Jake finds himself standing up, offering a hand to the other male with a devilish grin. “Care to jive?”

“Jive? You can’t dance to this.” All the same, the smirk remains fixed in place on Dirk’s face, and he takes the other’s hand in his own with mild hesitation. The looseness hangs in the air around them, a comforting atmosphere that a certain English is bound to miss by morning, upon Dirk’s departure.

Squeezing the other’s fingers tightly in his own, Jake shrugs it off and returns the smile somewhat crookedly; Dirk’s hand twitches slightly in his grasp. “I can’t dance at all, actually.” Bringing the other’s hand to his mouth, Jake presses a gentle kiss to the other’s knuckle before letting his fingers free. “Let’s just put a cap on this job and tidy up the cupboard.”

“Closet,” Dirk corrects automatically, maneuvering around the piles once more to stand fully beside his lover. “We’re almost done, at least.”

“Yeah…” Peering over at Dirk one last time, Jake returns his attention back to the task at hand, plaiting his fingers through a few random items in a box at his feet. His hand stops once, ghosting over a wooden spoon and lingering upon the handle for a brief moment. He gulps down a lump of saliva; his voice catches in his throat, and, as such, a strangled grunt vibrates in his neck. Slowly, he runs his fingertips delicately along the edge, and a gentle, saddened smile graces his face. “This was Grandma’s. Didn’t know this old thing was still in here.” Her death still rests a bit uneasily in Jake’s stomach. The cause of death is unknown, but she had wanted to be cremated, and this was a respected choice. At the same time, the aspect that his once-beloved caretaker is naught but ashes on the wind now has always been a little disconcerting.

Somewhere in the corner, the music stops.

“What are these…?” Dirk’s voice snaps Jake from his memory-ridden trance; the English turns toward the Strider with lifted eyebrows. Jerking his thumb toward an open case, Dirk scoots himself forward and retracts two skulls from the container. “… The hell…?”

“Ah, don’t mind those!” A faint blush rises on Jake’s face. “They’re just artifacts. I found ‘em back on the island when I was thirteen… They’re sort of a fetish of mine.”

“ _Skulls?_ ”

“They’re aesthetically pleasing!” Swiping the container from Dirk with a frown, Jake sets the skulls and other such artifacts aside, continuing to dig through his junk with a renewed vehemence. “You act like I shot the blokes down or something. They’ve been dead for centuries.”

Dirk, wisely, says no more on the subject, instead proceeding with the task at hand. Rolling his eyes, Jake tugs another box toward him, shuffling through the items and– at last! He has been scrounging around infinitely for these! Smirking suddenly, he removes the familiar twin pistols from the box. “Aha! Been searching for these pieces for a year now!”

Briefly glancing over at Jake’s hands, Dirk eyes the weapons with a small “hm”. “Still miss the island?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” Jake nods his head, turning the pistols over in his hands and observing the craftsmanship to re-familiarize himself with the make. “I would do anything to go back someday.”

“Huh.”

“Back to exploring, to hunting… I’m just not cut out for the concrete jungle.” He shrugs, shaking his head with a small smile. “Maybe someday I’ll go back. Just gotta retire with heaps of cash, I guess.”

“Yeah…” The corner of Dirk’s lip chances a small smile, though it soon fades to his typical stoic expression. Drawing his lower lip beneath his teeth, he lightly nudges Jake’s shoulder with his own. “Hey. What do you say we blow this joint?”

Jake peers up at him slowly, perplexed by what the man is saying. Well, what _is_ the man saying, exactly? Does he wish to go grab a bite to eat, or is his idea perhaps much larger, much _grander_ than that? “What…?”

“After I get back from Dave’s place.” Plopping down on the floor, Dirk slides a box aside and leans back tiredly against the closet door. “Nobody wants us here. We can hardly even go out in public together. I say we scram; leave for better things. We could go to the island. Or travel the world. I don’t care what the fuck we do, honestly.” He shakes his head. “I have enough money for both of us; we could even have Roxy and Jane tag along if they want.”

Whoa, whoa, what? Is… Is he serious? Any previous doubts about Dirk’s intentions are all but dissolved into nothing. It seems plenty evident what the Strider has in mind, and quite frankly, he wonders if the man isn’t completely mental.

Dirk wants to run away with him.

To escape the confinements of society, the judging eyes of the public, the restrictions placed upon him for simply being _him_ … Why, all of these would become nothing! The aspect, however crazy, does strike Jake in the chest quite firmly, and a curious fluttering beats madly within his chest, like the wings of a caged owl desperate to spread its limbs and soar. The key to the cage is just within his reach.

And Dirk wants to escape with _him_.

The thought makes the fluttering increase. _He really does love you_ , Jake thinks with a faint smile. It’s a little off-putting, and he isn’t particularly fond of the idea of spending so much of Dirk’s money, but the aspect of this rising plan stirs up an excitement within. Adventure is waiting, just beyond the borders of this constricting country.

“Y-Yeah…” He cannot restrain the toothy grin growing on his face. “Sounds wicked.”

Whatever lies in wait, whatever the future holds… Jake can tolerate it all, if only with the knowledge that, someday, he and Dirk (and perhaps Jane and Roxy, if they so wish) will leave it all behind.

No more paranoia, no more ridicule…

A day where he and Dirk can stand in the open.

Side by side.

Hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fats- The song "The Fat Man" by Fats Domino. One of the first rock 'n' roll songs to become popular.
> 
> Thanks for the commentary/kudos, as always. We've almost hit 100 kudos. I'm flattered. You people are great, and I love you all. <3
> 
> Also, as I have yet to mention this, you can track the story on Tumblr, under the tag "StillOTN". If you've anything to say, feel free post it there as well. I'd love to see. ;]


	16. Chapter 16

“Thanks for tagging along, you two.” Smiling fondly at the women by his side, Jake strolls casually down the sidewalk, hands resting contently within the confinements of his pockets. It’s a late Saturday evening, stars glittering in the sky above their heads with blessed beauty. Chitchatting amongst themselves, Jane and Roxy walk beside him, the former almost too tired to move and thusly leaning on the latter for support. “Some movie, wasn’t it?”

Sleepily nodding her head, Jane lets out a small yawn, stretching her arms out ahead of her. “Mhmm~…” she replies, and smiles gently at her former boyfriend. “Golly, though, I still can’t watch those without feeling drowsy…”

“But they're not that long…” He shrugs and shakes his head, though smiles in spite of it all. “I could watch movies for hours. They’re _brilliant_ …”

“So you ‘n’ Dirk go to these a lot?” Somewhere beside Jane, Roxy pokes her head forward, peering over at the adventurer across her friend. She is, surprisingly, mostly sober, an aspect that almost caught Jake off guard when he had come to pick her up for their outing earlier today. 

“Yeah, but we usually go to the drive-in.”  A small sigh passes through his nostrils. Dirk has been gone for almost two weeks now. Although the Strider has written him a letter or two, it still leaves a small longing in his gut. But no matter; Dirk is not his life, and he is more than capable of wasting time on his own. While he misses the other man something greatly, he knows that whatever Dirk is doing with his brother has to be significantly important, and who would he be to keep his lover from such dire family matters? “You know, more privacy and all…”

“Oh, _I see_ …” One of Roxy’s hands rises up and covers her mouth suddenly; a low snigger slips past her lipstick-laden mouth.

“Roxy!” A faint blush creeps up Jake’s neck and slides onto his face. “That’s not what I meant at all! Oh, bollocks… Ladies shouldn’t think like that. It’s crude…”

She snickers again, earning a small glare from the reddening English. “But you don’t deny it?”

“Of course I do! We haven’t even… And that would risk way too much!” He fervently shakes his head back and forth, to the point where his Homburg almost flies off of his head. “You realize that’s illegal?”

“Only if you’re caught~…”

“Oh, you two!” Rolling her eyes at their bickering, Jane reaches out and lightly bats their shoulders with her hands. “Good grief…”

Childishly, Jake sticks his tongue out at the Lalonde, earning another (slightly harder) slap, this time from Roxy. “Ow! Christ, okay! Stop!”

“We’re here!” Roxy announces with a newly-found skip in her step, interrupting their little quarrel. Her home approaches on the right, illuminated faintly by the dim glowing of a light atop the porch. “Well, this was totally fun! See you around, Janke!”

Did she just combine their names…? Chancing a lopsided grin, Jake nods and bids her farewell as the blonde bounces up to the front door and lets herself inside, disappearing quickly behind the newly-painted mahogany.

“She’s as nutty as ever…” Jake comments after Roxy shuts the door, giving a light chuckle. He truly has the strangest friends, and in a world where “strange” equates to “rare and reasonably so”, he counts himself mightily lucky on that point. The aspect of having “normal” companions is alien and unwelcome in his mind, considering his own oddities. Perhaps they are the only reason he’s made it through suburban life for so long without completely losing his mind. “At least she was sober today…”

Jane nods beside him, giving a small yawn and resting her forehead on his shoulder for a moment. “Yeah. By golly, I’m exhausted…”

“Well, our houses aren’t too far.” Gently patting her head, Jake lightly shrugs her off of his arm and begins walking again, ready to help her if need be. Luckily, she seems capable of at least moving on her own, and saunters slowly beside him, eyeing his face every now and then with an unreadable expression lingering on her features.

They continue onward in a mildly awkward silence, each uncertain of what to say in these next few minutes. Sure, they have long understood that a true relationship between them won’t work out, but that doesn’t change the fact that they do love each other: Jake platonically, and Jane… well, perhaps a bit more.

Yet, strangely, it is the short woman who shatters the stagnant silence between them, voice soft and light in the quiet of the dark. “Jake, dear? Are you alright?”

“Yeah… I’m fine.” He shoots her a grin, though feels an urge to follow up his reassurance with something more. “Well, fine enough.  Just thinking, that’s all.”

“Have a lot “on the noggin”?”

Jake grins even wider at her use of his own outlandish terminology, be it jokingly or not. “Got that right. Gee, I don’t know. Just been thinking a lot lately, that’s all; thinking of what’s yet to come. Is that daft...?”

“Not at all.” Reluctantly reaching outward, she takes his hand in her own and shoots him a supportive smile. “I don’t think anyone can plumb afford to do differently.”

“Yeah, guess that’s true…” He squeezes her hand in return, enjoying the comfort in feeling another’s hand in his own. So long as they live, none of the four shall ever be truly alone. “Well, this whole mess with me and Dirk is a bit wily. And then there’s my job. And there’s you, and Roxy… I don’t really know. I’m just a little overwhelmed, that’s all.”

“Nothing wrong with that… Life’s an overwhelming thing. I mean, jeepers, just think of everything that’s been happening lately…”

Nodding once in response, Jake releases her hand, spotting her house in the distance. A sudden tiredness has begun to linger behind his eyes, and he rapidly wishes nothing more than a good night’s sleep and a requiem for his frantic brain. “Yeah… Been a wild few years, huh?”

“Mhmm.” As they come to stop in front of her house, Jane releases another gentle yawn, placing her tiny hands over her mouth as it slips past her lips. “Gee, I’m beat… See you after work tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. Bring Roxy too.”

Leaning up, she plants a friendly kiss on his cheek and waves a hesitant goodbye.

Jake turns away from her, smiling a contented smile and waving his arm boisterously in return. Proceeding down the sidewalk by himself, the English slides his hands back into his pockets in a casual manner, idly whistling to himself as he strolls along the way. Yes, he decides. However hectic his life has become, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

As he walks on, his thoughts drift back to what Dirk had said a couple of weeks ago, about running away from it all. He wonders deeply if the man was even serious; he had seemed adamant about it, and spoke with a passion, yet… Somehow, he has this sinking feeling that things could never be so simple. Nothing between them has been easy thus far; why should that be any different? That isn’t to say that he does not wish to escape these boundaries, to love Dirk as freely and publically as he should be allowed, but…

Well, the aspect seems almost too good to be true.

Oh, but in the event that it does happen…! He can hardly contain his enthusiasm about it. He’s considered returning to his island for a while now, though funding has always been an issue. With Dirk covering the expenses, they could leave it all behind. Once again, he could inhale the sweet salt of the sea, the musky scent of the tombs on the far end of the beach; the vivid sun would shine brightly above by day, and the stars would glisten vibrantly, _beautifully_ , in the still of the night.

The road to paradise won’t be an easy one, but it will be all the more worth it when they can, at long last, love each other without the prying eyes of the public.

Forming pistols with his fingers, he lifts them to the sky with a smirk. His own enthusiasm is enough to bring out his inner adventurer; he now desires nothing more than to be back in the jungle, hunting down wild beasts and exploring every little nook and cranny. There are certain areas of the island he had not ventured into at his younger age, and the promise of being able to investigate them fully strikes out at him with an especially prominent strength.

At last, as he excitably thinks such things to himself, his orange house appears in the distance, almost difficult to discern in the dark.

If they escaped, he wouldn’t have to bear the awful paint job of his house every day either.

Shaking that thought from his head, Jake digs his keys out of his pants pocket, stepping up onto the sidewalk and approaching the house as it becomes clearer in his drowsy vision. His eyes catch a glimpse of something shimmery on the wall; he blinks a few times and squints.

The keys almost slip from his hands.

The front-most window has completely shattered, and a wide, jagged hole gapes in the center. Broken crystals of glass sprinkle the windowsill; more shards lie waiting inside.

Swallowing, he fumbles with his keys and hurriedly unlocks the front door, throwing it open and flipping on the light switch. The remainder of his house looks untouched, more or less; it would seem that any damage was done from the outside. Sighing slowly, strained, Jake shuts the door behind him, peering around with a newly-restored caution. There’s always that small chance that whoever broke his window is in the house, and like hell is he ever going down without a fight. 

Slinking down the hall, he hurries into the bedroom and throws open the closet, grabbing his pistols and holding them tightly in his fingers. Running his tongue along his protruding teeth, he peers around, carefully maneuvering back down the hall. Looks like nobody broke _into_ his house; the hole in the window isn’t large enough for an adult body anyway.

A small relief begins to flood over him, though it does not subdue his worry in the slightest. Somebody busted his window, of that much he is certain. With what and for what purpose, he is not yet sure, but he could wager a few guesses. Frowning to himself, he slips into the living room, surveying the damage done to his poor window by whatever-it-is that has shattered it. Yep, it’s definitely going to need replaced now; the majority of the glass panel is entirely destroyed, clearly obliterated by the force of the object.

He really wasn’t looking forward to replacing the windows anytime soon, but with this...?

Uttering a gentle groan, Jake lowers his pistols and takes a seat on the sofa, all but collapsing with a merging exhaustion and anxiety swelling within his body. He isn’t sure how much more of this stress he can take. All of these financial setbacks are really beginning to get to him; now he must pay for a new window on top of it all. Aghhh.

He shifts once, twice, and contorts his face in confusion. “Hmm…?” Sticking a hand beneath his bottom, he, quite strangely, retracts a rock from under his body.  It’s average in size, about as large as a lollipop, and almost perfectly flat.

How did this get here…?

Perhaps this is what was thrown through his window. Logically, it makes the most sense… Though why _anyone_ would want to vandalize his house is beyond his sleepy comprehension.

Turning the stone over in his hand a few times, he tosses it onto the floor, curling up on the sofa and allowing his mind to wander freely. Gingerly removing his glasses, he sets them down on the coffee table, beside his pistols, and shuts his eyes.

It could have been out of spite toward him or his companions. Or perhaps someone from the hospital has held more of a grudge than they were aware. Regardless of their intentions, Jake isn't as perturbed by this turn of events as he likely ought to be. Be it exhaustion or nonchalance, the thought hardly rests within his skull for five minutes before a light slumber consumes his every last fiber.

Whatever it is, whatever happened, it can wait until morning.


	17. Chapter 17

...

_Jake English_  
#### Spice Drive  
Houston, TX ##### 

_March 2, 1951._

_Dear Jake,_

_Hey, I just got your letter. The postal service up here is a joke._

_Anyway, that really sucks, about the window. I can cover the costs if you want. But it's probably just some brat's idea of a lame practical joke. Don't let it get to you._

_Things here are as always. Dave's been being a whiny little shit; you can't help but love the dude. I can't tell you much more than that. Still not sure when I'll be coming back. Could be hours, could be months. I didn't expect this to be such a big ordeal, but apparently he's helpless without his sicknasty bro around._

_It's sort of ironic..._

_Wish I could come visit and be all mushy and crap, but I'm still needed here. I expect you understand._

_Just hold out until I come back._

_Yeah._

_I freaking miss you._

_Dirk Strider_

_P.S. Ignore the blood on the bottom of the page. Just more sinusitis._

_Dirk Strider_  
#### Harvest Boulevard  
Elko, NV ##### 

_March 8, 1951._

_Dear dirk,_

_Great gosh its splendid to hear from you again. Its weird not jabbering on with you every day._

_The window is still broken and the draft is bloody awful sometimes. No you dont need to spend money on a new one. I can manage on my own. I should get my paycheck soon anyway assuming the boss doesnt rampage like a barmy bull again.  That guys a right nutter sometimes._

_I havent been bothered or anything since the window was broken though. *phew!* Almost had me worried actually. I thought for sure the perp knew about us. Maybe the fellow really does. Dunno._

_Gadzooks its cold in here!_

_But anyway. Im glad youre able to help your brother with whatever-it-is. You really make him sound like a twit though. Is he that bad? Hope i can meet him someday. Sounds like a mighty interesting bloke._

_Im managing over here but i miss you too. Never stop writing and i hope to hear from you soon._

_Double pistols and a wink._

_Jake English_

_Jake English_  
#### Spice Drive  
Houston, TX ##### 

_March 22, 1951._

_Dear Jake,_

_Yeah, not gonna lie, things are boring as all hell here._

_~~so youre the guy bro keeps ranting and shit over. never seen a guy so grossly jakesexual. you know bro gets off at-------~~ _

_Nevermind that._

_To answer your question about Dave; yeah, he's that bad. Exhibit A is above. Real classy little bastard, isn't he? Still the coolest dope I know. Wouldn't trade him for anything._

_"Double pistols and a wink"?_

_In that case, pointy shades and a smirk._

_Not much else to say. Hoping to be back any day now._

_Love you, dude._

_Dirk Strider_

_P.S. Ignore the blood on this letter too. Don't worry; it's not mine this time._

_Dirk Strider_  
#### Harvest Boulevard  
Elko, NV ##### 

_April 1, 1951._

_Dear dirk,_

_Youve been gone for a month and a half now. By jove mate how much longer are you gonna be over there?_

_Anyway. Thats your sib? Seems like an interesting fellow but wow um. What was that tidbit about "getting off"? Golly... *dabs at forehead*_

_Well life here is right dull not gonna lie. Poor Jane broke her wrist the other day (its a long story). Roxy has been trying to sober up and its not exactly working to say the least._

_And thats about all there is to report._

_So in that case._

_Come home soon old chap. Love you too._

_Jake English  
_

~*~*~*~

Three weeks have come and gone since Jake sent out the last letter, and he has not heard a single word from the other man since.

It is presently April 27, 1951. Over two months have passed since Dirk's departure, an aspect that makes Jake cringe internally. Being all the way out in Nevada, Dirk is almost entirely out of reach, apart from a letter here and there (and now, even those comforting little slips of paper have ceased altogether).

Why, there's no telling what the poor Strider has been dealing with these past weeks. Dave is probably driving him crazy. And then there's all of the other stress placed on him by his strange personality, his constant illness, and his apparent status as a homosexual (or, as Dave mockingly seems to call it, "Jakesexual"). Why, he has difficulty comprehending all of the struggle that the poor Strider must deal with every day of his life; but, then, he supposes this only proves just how internally strong the other man is, and this is something he, himself, can admire and take pride in.

That spectacular, irregular man is his, and his alone.

It's a toasty Friday evening; the sun has set at last below Jake's line of sight, though the humid stillness of Houstonian suburbia lingers behind for quite some time after. Neutralized lilacs and russets consequently dapple the sky above. Distantly, a car screeches and cries as a maniacal driver zips around some street or another; the gentle hymns of evening bugs resonate around him. All in all, the night thrives with a simultaneous spice and simmer, bustling and serene, an oxymoron in itself, in a manner of considerable carelessness.

Yes, Jake decides, this is quite the contradictory little city. 

He sits happily enough in the wooden hand-crafted chair upon his frontmost patio, silently gracing whomever wisely built the overhang above his hatless head. Resting in the other seat beside him is his trusty brown radio, quietly trasmitting little sentences and broadcasts to his eager ears. One never knows what sorts of things go on in a day without the nightly news, after all.

A gentle breath exhales from his lips as he slumps a bit further in the chair. After another grueling week at work, it _is_ quite nice to simply sit back and refamiliarize himself with the aspect of relaxation. Strangely, mental and emotional exercise is far more demanding than physical work.

As the radio beside him fizzes frantically for signal, he shifts again and turns the channel dial, gnawing absently on the inside of his cheek while his fingers curl around the knob. Which station, which station...? Well, there aren't too many options to begin with, but... Nonetheless. 

He winds up settling for a station discussing the war in Korea (not that it applies too much to his own life). To think- if Dirk had been in decent health, he could have wound up serving time across the Pacific. The thought strikes him with a mild firmness. Though he appreciates the efforts made by every veteran, he can't imagine fretting over the Strider every day; it's frightfully overwhelming to consider. He would make no attempt to stop Dirk from enlisting again, but the worry he would feel every morning and night... Suddenly, all of those wives' quips about war make all too much sense.

Psh, what undignified thought! He is an English; he is far from a war wife. Hell, he isn't even a wife! He's a man, and on top of it all, homosexual marriage is out of the question.

... Marriage? He hasn't considered that before... Well, of course such an idea is taboo and therefore null, but does his love go so far as to ignite a desire to make that commitment? Is he willing, after six or so months of dating the Strider, to remain by his side for all eternity?

In sickness? In health?

Until death? Beyond?

Such a deep concept, and yet... He cannot help but nod slowly, steadily, to himself. Yes, he supposes he _would_ be willing to commit; how else could he tolerate the idea of running away to the isolated island with only Dirk (and perhaps Roxy and Jane)? And even if their love did not last, their friendship would surely survive, at the very least.

This is petty thinking, he knows, for a true marriage between two men will never be allowed. But that doesn't mean they can't make that promise to one another, at the very least.

Scoffing, he suddenly shakes his head back and forth, grinning, smally, though enough that his teeth poke out from behind curled lips. Where are all of these thoughts coming from? He really should get Dirk off of his mind for a while. Considering the lack of letters as of late, he can't even be certain as to when the blonde will return, if ever.

... If ever?

Oh, poppycock! What sort of ridiculous thinking is that? Of course Dirk will return! It might take days, months... Years, even. But he will wait a lifetime if he must.

The radio to his left fizzes again as the sky begins to cloud up above him; a light, cool breeze wafts toward his body, lashing out at him and blowing his clothes back a bit. Looks like it's almost time to go inside (and besides, Captain Video is showing sometime soon on the tele).

Though, admittedly, it _is_ rather enjoyable out here. For once, it isn't _too_ unbearably hot, as Texas so often seems to be. The humidity is still a bit uncomfortable, but that can be easily ignored; his old island home often had humid air as well.

As the mosaic sky begins to fade, Jake turns off the radio and tucks it under his arm. Pushing himself onto his feet, he sticks his free hand into his shirt pocket, fingers lightly beginning to trace the edges of the smooth, flat stone within its folds.

However similar they might seem, this stone and the one thrown through his window are unsettlingly different.

No. This rock had been placed on his doorstep a week ago, greeting him rudely one morning with its scratchy, crude lettering. Upon this particular stone, a single word has been sloppily engraved into the flat white surface, subtle yet clear in the right lighting.

Narrowing his eyes distastefully, Jake pushes such thoughts from his brain and opens the door, stepping inside and slipping his shoes off beside the entrance. Why does he let himself dwell on such insults? Normally, he wouldn't buckle beneath the pressuring words of society, but... As much as it pains him to admit, it _stings_. Something about this whole situation is different somehow, be it the tone, the venom, or the context; he cannot, for the life of him, put his finger on it.

Is this what it's like for all of his type? Such thoughts begin swarming his head. He does not consider himself homosexual, yet he fully acknowledges his attraction toward Dirk, and, in all honesty, he has never felt more love, lust, or adoration for another human being in his lifetime, male _or_ female.

All he knows at this point is that somebody knows, fully, who he is, who he is seeing, and where he resides. Is it a hospital staffer? A random stranger who caught them kissing? Who truly knows, at this point? Does it even matter? Can anything be done? A multitude of questions swarm within his mind, ushering forth a swift headache as he hurriedly pulls the stone from his pocket.

He really should discard this nasty thing...

Swallowing down his anxiety, Jake shrugs his shoulders a few tines, chancing a twitchy, uncertain smirk as his eyes peer down upon the rock. "You're a right bogging piece, you know that?"

The rock simply stares up at him with the same old response etched into its face.

Frowning suddenly, Jake clenches his fist around it, squeezing every inkling of stress out until his knuckles grow white. This stone is the epitome of his misery, his shame, and his irritation, all furled into one rotten object. As his heart convulses in his chest, a low swear slips through gritted teeth; giving it one last glance, he curls his fingers around the stone and places it neatly back into his breastpocket.

As much as its cruel words pain him... For one reason or another, he cannot bring himself to toss it away. Something within his subconscious holds him back every time, and it almost makes him sick to his stomach.

Sitting the radio aside, he plops down on the floor and runs his fingers idly through his hair; the rock tugs down loosely within the confinements of his pocket.

"Cocksucker."

His stomachache returns. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the commentary, kudos, etc. I love you all to bits. ;w;


	18. Chapter 18

Tossing his gloves carelessly aside, Jake pushes past the factory door and into the changing room, eyes narrowed in a bitter frustration.

May 12th has dawned upon them, and never did Jake expect to be concluding yet another grueling work week on his own.

Factory life has been even more demanding as of late, it seems, for one reason or another. Quite frankly, he is growing quite tired of the blue collar life, though cannot fathom leaving his job for any reason. Oh, he can find work elsewhere if he wants, but that’s far easier said than done, and in the instance that rumor of his relationship with Dirk is indeed spreading, he’ll be lucky to remain in the workforce at all.

Oh, this entire situation is just so bloody _awful_.

Wordlessly, he removes his work clothes and dresses himself in the typical out-trekking attire, face mostly expressionless as his thoughts drift and calculate to the best of their ability. Well, as far as he knows, the hospital knows of his secret. Somebody has been harassing him with rocks and vandalism, but that person could also easily be a staff member, so there’s no true evidence that word has expanded beyond that little infirmary. Potentially, this is also Jake being an optimist. In the absolute best case scenario, the hospital is the sole institution with knowledge of their secret.

How sad.

Speaking of Dirk, the fellow remains at large; Jake has yet to receive any sort of notice about his lover’s whereabouts, or what sort of things he’s even up to. Considering the fact that it’s been almost three months since Dirk left to begin with, he’s starting to worry a little. Unfortunately, he never thought to ask for Dave’s phone number, so he has virtually no way of ensuring himself that Dirk is at least in decent health.  Perhaps it would be wise to send out another letter? There’s always the possibility that his prior note was lost in the mail...

Well, whatever the case, it’s been far too long since he’s heard Dirk’s voice. He almost has trouble pinning it in his head; after rereading the old letters, he found his own voice taking over where the Strider’s once was, and that familiar raspy drawl has all but faded from his mind.

Jake is ashamed.

But that isn’t to say that he’s forgotten Dirk’s entirety. Oh, no, he still recalls those goofy shades, that shrugging quirk, and the subtle way he smirks at most of the things to come out of Jake’s mouth. Yes, the Strider’s face shall forever be engraved into his mind, whatever may befall them these next few years, and although he wonders at times if Dirk’s mind works the same way, he has a mightily strong feeling that it does.

“Outta the way, English!”

“Ah, my bad, chap.” Sidestepping, Jake sits down on the bench to slip on his shoes, wincing as his toe pokes up through one of his socks. Looks like another investment might need to be made soon. “But you don’t have to jabber like a wily cretin.”

 “Like a _what_?” His coworker sneers in Jake’s general direction as he slips his working clothes off. “Flake off!”

A frown settles upon Jake’s face, and his eyes narrow slightly at the other’s tone, though he makes no attempt to retort. Such quipping would do neither of them a lick of good, and, despite his gun-wielding past, he’s never really been one for aggression. Biting back all rejoinders on his tongue, he collects his things and turns away, twisting the knob of the door and pulling it open.

Silently, he shuts the door behind him, careening over to the exit and stepping outside. With summer drawing nearer, the sky retains its prior bright hue, and shan’t darken for another hour or so.  Well, at least the walk home will be relatively bright; the sun often seems to help curb any loneliness, irritation, or discomfort he might be feeling on any given day. Suppose that’s just another one of those strange things he must attribute to his upbringing.

What would Grandma say, if she could see him now…? Stuck in the suburbs, in love with a man, and ultimately in a rut. It’s quite shameful, really. He can only hope to redeem himself in the remainder of his life, especially if they can successfully make the journey away from this desolate place. No longer shall he be restrained– restrained from love, from being whomever he wishes. The time has come to break free.

Inhaling the crisp evening air, he treads down the steps and onto the sidewalk, slipping his hands into his pockets, a new habit which he mentally curses himself for getting into. It is naught but a sign of evaporating confidence.

Times are certainly changing, aren’t they?

Pushing his glasses further up his nose, he falls into a casual stroll, peering around at the various shops and businesses and whatnot along the way. A bustling music blares out with fruity exuberance from a bar on the corner of the street; this is the one he and Roxy used to (occasionally) visit. Oh, how he misses working with that gal…! With her workplace being on the other end of town, he rarely gets the opportunity to see her anymore, since she often works weekends too. He and Jane have bonded marvelously as of late, but that’s mostly out of her desire to teach him some basic cooking skills (he thinks his food is delicious, but she apparently begs to differ); apart from those little sessions, even she is becoming a scarcer aspect of his life. All of his closest companions have been falling from his fingers, little by little…

He supposes it’s in part his own fault for not chasing after them. With the factory business, and all of this controversy, and the stress of losing everyone and everything… He hasn’t been himself lately. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to correct that…! Perhaps everything would mend itself if he simply let go; if he quit caring so much about being found out, or about getting a raise…

No, no. That is foolish thinking. If only life were so easy.

But that certainly doesn’t mean their friendship is a wholly lost cause. Why, there are plenty of things he could do to strengthen their weakening bonds! Tomorrow marks the beginning of another weekend; he could call up Jane, perchance, and maybe even see if Roxy is working tomorrow or not. Even if she is, he could always stop by and visit. Plenty can, indeed, be done, and perhaps it _is_ up to him to make the effort.

As his thoughts begin to wander, he turns the corner and proceeds along the road as the main plaza disappears behind him. A young couple to his right passes cheerily on by, chitchatting amongst themselves and gushing over one another with a blinded romance fluffy enough to make Jake cringe. Young lovers are so… Just… Augh. In a way, however, he cannot help but envy their ability to love so freely. Yes, public displays of affection are still awkward and unwelcome by many, but not to the point where one might be arrested for simply kissing their companion.

Mind forever in a wander, Jake eventually winds up passing by Dirk’s apartment, checking the parking lot for any sign of Dirk’s black Ambassador. His efforts are, unfortunately, in vain, for the typical parking spot in which Black Beauty rests is taken by some ’40 Ford Woody.

“Oh, golly, Dirk, where the devil are you?” he mutters, peering absently up at Dirk’s floor, visible from the outside but entirely dark all the same. The Strider is as gone as gone can be.

Though, at this point, he can’t say he really expected much else.

A small sigh deflates his chest. “Come home soon, old chum.” Eyes lingering upon the door a bit longer, he finally begins walking once more, keeping a slow pace as if Dirk would come running up behind him, beckoning. Ah, that sounds ridiculous, and altogether a bit girly, but at this point, he might well go loony if he doesn’t see Dirk’s face at least one more time before death.

Then again, with any luck, that would give him fifty or so years.

Okay, so maybe he would go crazy within the next five years instead.

Perhaps he already is. Why else would he have spent so much time today in such a dour mood? Maybe, rather than simply being down in the dumps from all of this stress, he’s subconsciously going into psychopathic shock. Yes, that’s surely it.

… Such thoughts are equally batty, are they not?

No, focus, stop, walk, forget. Shaking his head again, Jake treads onward in the direction of his own house, whistling a little tune to himself as he slowly pulls out of his sour cocoon. His hands move to slide back into his pockets, though he catches himself in the act this time and forces them to remain at his sides; his fingers respond with a quick curl.

It’s high-time he took his life by the horns and shot it point-blank in the face.

Yes, he tells himself with a smirk as his house comes into view over the hill. Is he an English or not? Time to live up to his family name!

Black Beauty is parked in the driveway.

...

_What?_

" _Dirk?_ " His eyes grow wide, and his glasses nearly slip clean off of his nose. He'd recognize that '49 Ambassador anywhere; Dirk Strider is surely inside his house. Within his mouth, his tongue grows leaden, and his jaw idly shifts beneath. A discomforting thudding rips at his chest as his heart pounds hot blood through his body; a rapid pulse shudders along his limbs.

It's been so long...

Swallowing down a tart lump in his throat, he hurries forward down the sidewalk, legs weightless in their frantic run.

Dirk is home.

Oh good golly, Dirk is _home_.

He all but throws open the door to his house, eyes frenzied in their fervent search for the Strider. Oh, dang nabbit, the bloke must be in here somewhere...!

"Jake?"

That drawl... Oh, how he missed that familiar Texan twang...! Shutting the door behind him, Jake peers around the corner and into the kitchen as the welcoming scent of spicy foods waft in his general direction.

There stands Dirk Strider, shades and all, leaning back against the counter and meeting the others' gaze with a small, crooked smirk. "... Hey, dude."

"H-Hey, mate..." Jake finds himself grinning wider than he ever thought possible, and for once, doesn't care in the slightest that glee is practically seeping from his skin. Giving an airy chuckle, he folds his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at the other man for a moment. "Whaddaya think you're doing, barging in here like that?"

"Well, _you_ gave me a key." His response is dry, humorless, though the smirk does not so much as quiver upon his face. Shaking his head, Dirk takes a few steps forward; it is Jake, however, who takes the initiative to break the gap between them, tugging the Strider forward into an embrace. Dirk's arms instantly encircle him, and his chin resumes its position comfortably atop the adventurer's shoulder. "I missed you, you dope."

Jake simply lets loose a giddy laugh, burying his face in the other's neck to the best of his ability (his glasses make this a slightly difficult task). The bony body beneath his fingers is so warm, so real... He smells a bit odd, and likely hasn't bathed in a week or so, but in a situation such as this, Jake cannot help but relish in the fact that Dirk is once again a part of his life.

And this time, he isn't letting go.

~*~*~*~

After a scrumptious dinner in the other's company, Jake dims the lights (by Dirk's request) and plops down contently upon the sofa; the blonde turns on the television and joins his boyfriend on the couch, removing his sunglasses and placing them gently aside. The screen flickers on to reveal a rerun of some comedy sitcom, but the volume is low enough to simply provide a bit of noise to lessen the awkwardness between them.

"So..." Leaning back against the cushion, Jake glances over in Dirk's direction, unable to tear his eyes from the other’s face. It’s been so long since he’s been in his company like this… It’s inexplicably nice. “Why hadn’t you responded to my letter, old chap? I thought my last one was pretty nifty…”

“Me?” Dirk meets the other’s eyes for a moment, slight confusion lingering in his orange gaze. “ _You_ didn’t respond to _me_. I sent you a letter back in March.”

“Yeah, I know; I still have it…” Wait, so Dirk never got his letter? Strange; he knows for certain that he put it in the mailbox for pick-up back in April… Perhaps it got lost in the mail after all. That’s the only plausible explanation, unless Dave did something with the letter, which he somehow doubts after all of this time. “Guess it got lost or something...”

The Strider seems to ponder that for a moment, breaking their insistent stare briefly to glance away in thought. “Hm. Either way, that really sucks. Not gonna lie; I thought something happened to you. I probably drove Bro completely nuts.” His lips curve upward in another devilish smirk. “It was awesome to have some strife with him again.”

Jake cannot help but grin. Well, at least this clears up the subject of whether or not Dirk was simply ignoring his letter. He should have known better, really. “Bet so…” The television has all but been forgotten at this point. Both men are just enjoying the company of one another, and rightly so, considering how long they were separated. Their eyes cross paths again; so much is addressed through these simple glances that neither dares to fracture the stare. Subconsciously (or perhaps more consciously than Jake would like to admit), the adventurer scoots nearer, fingers curling in his lap as he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Gee willickers, that was some good chow we just ate!”

Dirk’s incredulous stare bears into his own, and one of his thin blonde eyebrows rises in inquiry; Jake, meanwhile, is presently slapping himself silly within the confinement of his own mind. What sort of distant, random bullshittery was that? Oh, is his experience with casual conversation truly so rusty with this man that he cannot even strike up intimate conversation? A heat rises to his cheeks as Dirk continues to glance at him with those unnerving, inquisitive carroty eyes.

Drawing his lower lip beneath his teeth, Jake lifts a hand, placing his fingers under Dirk’s chin and holding it slightly more upright. Some sort of strange itch has begun to pool in his veins; his stomach curls and gnashes within his abdomen. His eyes flit over the other man’s pale cheeks, firm jawline, slicked hair…

It’s been far too long since he last felt that unyielding skin beneath his fingers, beneath his lips…

It takes his brain a while to register the fact that he has completely thrown all thought processes out the window, and by the time he realizes his mistake, he has Dirk pinned to the back of the couch, hands grasping at the other man’s collar. For once, Dirk seems entirely thrown for a loop, for his eyes are wide and questioning, and his own hands lie trembling at his sides. He regains his composure briefly, and thusly connects their lips, tugging Jake down closer to his body. It shouldn’t be entirely surprising that the two of them feel a craving for one another; after being away from each other for such a span of time, it is only logical that both should have a certain degree of lust.

Jake’s hands worm their way up from Dirk’s shirt, hooking behind his jaw instead and pulling him closer still, shifting his body to shimmy into the other’s lap. The position is uncomfortable for them both, but for the time being, neither gambles to break off for breath. It would seem Dirk has come to his senses at last, and thusly slinks his arms around Jake’s torso; a faintly muffled groan is drawn forth from the blonde’s throat as his lips give way to Jake’s prying tongue.

What is he doing? Jake can’t even be certain anymore, but it feels so good, so necessary, that he daren’t question instinct. A heat bubbles in his stomach, soon settling awkwardly in his groin; Dirk seems to notice, and stiffens hence, slowly wrenching back from Jake’s mouth. Their eyes meet, befuddled and hungry, for a moment; Dirk’s own gaze flickers briefly to the left, and he jerks his head in the same direction with a short cough. It takes Jake a minute to realize what exactly Dirk is implying, but once full comprehension strikes, his own eyes widen, and he swallows.

If they’re caught, they will be in a world of trouble.

Nonetheless, he finds himself gradually nodding, and, scooting clumsily off of Dirk’s lap, rises to his feet. Much must be said, and much must be done, but they both need this, and he’d be damned if he ever lets some bogus law prevent him from enjoying potential affections.

And so it is, with a final peek over at the locked door and the curtained windows, that he begins to stagger toward the back hall, Dirk trailing closely behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here's the deal. While there is likely to be sex (or near-sex) in the next chapter, I feel I should lay down a few things real quick:
> 
> 1.) I've never written smut before.  
> 2.) I don't believe in perfect, audience-pleasing sex, especially in multichapter fanfiction based on plot more than hot lovemaking. I write it almost solely for character and plot development.  
> 3.) I'll probably keep the M rating, so don't expect it to be extremely graphic. If this goes up to E, then I surprised myself and wrote actual, accidental smut. Also, let me know if sex in general usually prompts E, as I'm a bit unfamiliar with AO3's rating system.
> 
> Now that THAT'S out of the way, thanks for reading, as always. We're almost to 4000 hits, guys, and steadily nearing 50 comments. This is honestly more than I had expected when this began, and I cannot thank you enough. ;w;


	19. Chapter 19

Where his mind and body have wandered, Jake is not entirely certain. How _can_ he be? He isn't even sure what his plan is at this point: making out, sex, simple conversation in the privacy of a bedroom...? However unlikely the third option seems to the naked eye, he wouldn't dare rule out anything this far along.  Whatever needs his own body is harboring are completely beyond mental comprehension, so he simply goes along with it, squirming a little as he walks.

The tent in his pants is _not_ helping him think straight.

But it isn't as if Dirk is unwilling or disgusted either; in fact, he daresay the Strider is quite eager to proceed with whatever may follow in these next moments, as evidenced by his twitching hands and his quickened pace.

This is seriously happening, isn't it? They're about to break the law, to commit sin perhaps even greater than their basic love for each other.

Strangely, that isn't what unnerves him most about all of this.

The two step into Jake's bedroom, maneuvering around the various items strewn across the floor; sadly, he's never been the neatest bloke, and the disadvantages of such a filthy habit are starting to show in quite an awkward situation. Locking the door behind them, Jake checks the window one last time; it is, thankfully, curtained and shut. The chance of anyone walking in on them is slimmer this way, at least.

As his fingers release the knob, a pair of thin white arms snake around his middle, tugging him backwards slightly; Dirk's lips slip slyly along his ear, and his tongue flits out briefly to lap at the lobe.

"Oye, Strider..." Jake swallows again as the blonde ushers him backwards once more, and the words promptly die in his throat. There is so much to be said yet-- so much to be done...

But... Perhaps all that can wait for now.

Turning on his heel, Jake greets Dirk's lips with his own, grinning against the other's mouth as they stumble swiftly backwards, collapsing on the mattress. The blonde snorts uncomfortably as Jake's knee clacks against his own in their fall; the latter breaks off and shoots him an apologetic smile. Readjusting his position atop the Strider, he peers momentarily down at Dirk, meeting the other's eyes with rising brows. His gaze is glossed over with want, and his stark white face is a bizarre, almost foreign shade of red.

Golly... How long has Dirk been anticipating this? The thought sends a crimson tint to his own face. They're both men, so the risk of pregnancy isn't an issue; on top of that, premarital sex is null, because marriage is out if the question.

Why _haven't_ they had sex yet, exactly...?

Shaking his head, Jake lifts a hand and weaves his fingers through Dirk's blonde locks, pushing them back off of his forehead and greasing them in place once again in the process. Oh, he looks positively _dapper_ like this; it almost brings a cattish smirk to his lips, and perhaps it would have, had Dirk not leaned up to connect their mouths once more. Sighing through his nose, Jake returns the kiss instantaneously, proceeding hungrily from where they left off in the living room.

The room is already hot, sticky, and progressively smaller, an aspect that hazes Jake's mind and fuels his drive further. He lowers himself gradually down, pressing their bodies more fully against each other; a staggering groan rumbles in his throat as Dirk's tongue meets his own halfway.  He tilts his head further to the left, desperate for more of the warm, encasing heat of the other man's bared mouth. One of Dirk's hands lingers at the nape of his neck, just as willing to assist him in getting closer still, nearer and nearer until they are all but one entity.

They have yet to breach the boundaries of where they've gone before, but _oh_ , is Jake's mind reeling. The promise of what is yet to come enthralls him to no end; he fears it, if only slightly, but craves it all the same. How can he not? He and Dirk have been (technically) seeing each other for seven months now. Yes, the aspect of making love with another man is a bit foreign to him, but with any luck, so is it to his lover, and that's good enough for him.

They part briefly for air, at which time Dirk reaches up with shaky fingers to pry off Jake's glasses, setting them gently upon the bedside table. Oh, bullocks, now even his vision is a blur...! Though, he supposes there's really no way to avoid removing them... "I can't see..."

"You don't need to." Well, this is in part true, he supposes, since it's mostly dark in he-- _oh Lordy_.

Dirk bucks his hips up, earning a staggered breath from both of them; strange, how he seems to know the rounds of all of this. Perhaps it's only instinct, or Jake's clouded mind toying with him, but... "Dirk?"

"Yeah?"

"Um..." Oh, gosh, there truly isn't a good way to ask this, but... "Have you done this before...?"

This question catches Dirk slightly off-guard, but, after a moment's hesitation, he nods slowly; remembering that the other can't see him too well, he responds secondly with a breathy, "Once."

... Huh? Well, he never _has_ asked about Dirk's prior love life; as bad as it sounds, he always just assumed being homosexual meant partners were scarce. "... Oh."

"You haven't?"

"Not exactly, no..."

Dirk pauses briefly before responding; their panting fills the stagnant night air as he ponders over what to say. "I only have once, during the war-- drunk with some fucked up guy called Caliborn. Don't remember much from it anyway."

Caliborn? The name sounds vaguely familiar, but not incredibly so; he can't quite put his finger on it. Regardless, does it really matter to him that Dirk isn't a virgin? Not particularly, he thinks. The other man's prior experience makes him feel a bit nervous, a bit challenged, but like hell is he going to let it get in the way. If anything, it only makes him want to prove himself; to outperform whatever cretin dared to touch his boyfriend while under the influence of alcohol.

Leaning up a bit, Jake gropes near-blindly around for Dirk's vest collar, grasping it tightly in clenched fingers as a jolt racks his lower body; he thrusts forward thusly, earning a brief grunt of arousal from the other man, a sound that sends a rush of excitement through his veins. Dirk has never been one for expression, verbally or physically, andto elicit such noises from him only heightens Jake's desire.

Hooking his fingers clumsily beneath the top button of Dirk's vest, he begins to peel down the uppermost portion of his clothes, pulling back the solid forest fabric and exposing Dirk's collarbone and neck to his straining eyes. His skin is so _white_... perhaps Jake is simply accustomed to his own darker complexion, but he must wonder sometimes if Dirk ever even steps outside. Fingers grasping at the next button, he lowers his head a bit, experimentally pressing his lips to Dirk's neck in an open-mouthed kiss. The other man shifts a little and begins to let his hands roam, but otherwise leaves Jake to his own experimentations and discoveries. This is something mostly foreign to both of them, and regardless of how long they last, they would never think to deny each other the chance to get comfortable with the idea.

With his confidence returning, Jake smirks slightly, and pulls another button loose from the vest. His lips continue their advances upon Dirk's throat, ravishing and tasting and shuddering at the feeling of hot pulse beneath his tongue. Another button pops loose, and another, until the blonde manages to shrug it off of his shoulders and toss it aside. The loose shirt beneath is swiftly discarded as well, leaving Dirk entirely exposed from the waist up; the Strider raises an eyebrow and reaches up to tug at Jake's clothes.

"Off," he rasps, and tugs once more. Jake nods hurriedly and sits upright, gritting his teeth. He hadn't realized just how hard he is until now, and by golly, it's getting uncomfortably tight down below.

As he shimmies out of his coat, his eyes flicker down upon Dirk's bare torso, trying to make out the blur of a man below him; his brows knit suddenly in the middle his forehead. "Dirk!"

"Hm?"

"What the bloody hell did you _do_ in Nevada?" Not only has the Strider lost about twenty pounds since Jake saw him last, but he also managed to earn a patterning of cuts and bruises crisscrossing all over his body. "You look like you got ran over by a tractor or something!"

"Calm your tits, Jake." Dirk continues to pull at the other man's shirt, nonchalance heavy in his lust-laced drawl. "I told you Dave and I had moments of strife."

Rolling his eyes at Dirk's hurried pace, Jake removes his shirt and discards it with the other, looking over Dirk's body one last time. "... Do they still hurt?"

"I can handle it." Dirk shrugs. "Enough talking."

Jake narrows his eyes, but lowers himself back over his boyfriend. He doesn't want to do anything to actually hurt the poor guy, but at this point, he's uncertain if he can do anything to avoid that entirely. Maybe he'll luck out and--

" _Anghh_ , Dirk...! What're you...?" His breath hitches in unsuspecting gasps; Dirk's hand has slipped between them to grab Jake's hard-on through his pants, rendering him utterly helpless against Dirk's advances. Oh, crikey, that feels much better than it should...! As his breathing grows more labored still, Jake braces himself against the other man, grasping him by the shoulders and bucking forward; his teeth gnash behind pursed lips. "W-What's the rush?"

"You wouldn't get on with it." Snorting lightly, Dirk unbuckles Jake's belt, unwinding it from around his waist and letting it fall to the floor from his fingers. His left hand rises and snakes behind Jake's skull, curling in the other's hair and urging his head down. The English simply frowns, placing his forehead on Dirk's chest and groaning. "... Jake? Are you stalling?"

... Is he? Surely not...? He does want this, as if his eager cock isn't evidence enough, and yet... Something _is_ , admittedly, holding him back a little. He can't quite put his finger on it, but something about this entire ordeal makes his stomach churn uneasily. He hardly thinks it's virgin-worry, but what else _could_ it be?

"... I'm chipper. No worries, chap." Feigning a grin, he drops his fingers to Dirk's pants and unbuttons the clasp. He yanks the trousers down to his ankles; the blonde takes the initiative to kick them off to the ground. His own slacks follow soon after.

Oh God, what is he about to do?

Thankfully, Dirk does the honors, and quickly manages to strip them both down completely, socks and boxers and all, until the two lay out before each other, completely and utterly nude.

Oh, this is so much more awkward than Jake would have expected. Would it be any less awkward between a man and a woman? Or, hell, between two women? He and Dirk are simply on full display, both exposed, both decently aroused at this point...

"Uh... Jake?"

"Hm?"

"You know you're staring at my-"

"I know!" A vivid heat rises to his face. "I know. Sorry, it's just... Cripes, Dirk, I don't know..." He shakes his head ardently and suddenly cranes his neck, crouching over Dirk's exposed length with a deepening frown.

Oh, he's fully knowledgable about what he is expected to do now; it's only natural. Dirk deserves to be pleasured, and he would love to be the person to delight the Strider and satisfy his sexual needs. He is an English! This is yellow-bellied cowardice! He is more than capable of a little oral sex.

But...

All the same... That godforsaken insult remains engraved, insistent, in the front of his mind.

_Cocksucker._

... And he can't do it.

Wincing visibly, he peers up at Dirk with an apologetic gaze, fists clenching in the sheets at his sides. A hot embarrassment drifts onto his cheeks, and he swears that it's showing, despite his tan complexion.

"I can't..." he finally murmurs, a quiet quiver strewn in his voice. He cannot meet the other man's eyes, nor can he bear the shame clutching at his heart. Why is he so damned incapable of doing this simple task? Is a mere word etched into a rock enough to usher forth an inner fear-- to prevent him from pleasing his lover in bed? Is he truly so pathetic? "Dirk... I--"

“Don’t sweat it. It’s cool.” Dirk sits himself upright to the best of his ability, eyeing Jake’s face with curious, searching eyes. It would seem he has discovered what he was looking for, for he soon backs up to give the English some space. “I can take care of myself…” 

“You shouldn’t have to, though…” Narrowing his eyes, Jake leans back against the mattress, toes curling as another wave of arousal quivers down his spine. “Damn… shucks… I owe you this much. I want to, I really do… But… Oh, quit looking at me like that, will you? Bloody hell, Dirk…” 

“You don’t have to feel guilty, you know. I get why—“ 

“No, you don’t! You haven’t been here… You don’t know what’s going on…” Jake swallows, grinding his teeth as Dirk shifts beside him. He really, _really_ wishes the Strider wouldn’t do that. “You… _Ahngfh_ … What are you…?” 

As Dirk’s palm presses firmly to his chest, Jake finds himself losing all function of his tongue; the words die in his throat before even reaching his mouth. The blonde shoves him gently backward; he falls softly with his back against the mattress. “What are--?” 

“Shh.” His eyes narrow, though not in irritation, rather through an expression of his simultaneous regret and teasing. “Sex shouldn’t involve this much talking. Seriously.” 

Jake’s lips part to retort, but Dirk’s mouth cuts him off with a firm, loving kiss. The heat instantly returns, settling in comfortably between their bodies and puffing out in little breaths as their swollen lips disconnect only for brief gasps. It’s a bit odd, being on the bottom, but he cannot say that he dislikes it, per se. It’s just… different, really. Dirk lifts his head slightly, brilliant orange eyes gazing affectionately down upon his lover; a flushed scarlet glows beneath his spackling of freckles. “… I’m sorry.” 

“For wh--” 

Dirk cuts him off with another quick peck, then readjusts his position to hover higher over the other man. He dips in, dragging his lips lazily over Jake’s collar, dunking his nose into the furrow of the jutting bone.

Sorry…? Sorry for what, he must wonder? For disappearing for three months with hardly a word? For Jake’s inability to have sex with him without the possibility of a mental breakdown? Either way, it causes an awful numbing sensation in his chest; he suddenly wants nothing more than to remain here forever, unmoving, untouched by the outside world. Dirk isn’t perfect by any means—his puppet fetish, weird fashion sense, and bizarre gibberish are signs enough–but he’s far more than Jake ever could have hoped for, and he daren’t struggle through this abhorring world without the man at his side. 

Dirk shifts above him, letting his fingers dance along the adventurer’s chest, ineptly touching and tweaking and _heavens_ , it could not feel more right. Whatever nonsensical malarkey those queer-fearing blokes out there believe, he'll never find Dirk's touch violating, or forceful... On the contrary, the Strider is being much gentler than he would have expected, though his uncertainty is plainly obvious. The two of them shall be an awkward couple for quite some time, it seems, and he would have it no other way.

As Dirk lingers steadily lower, trembling lips swollen and luscious against his naval, Jake's breath hitches, and his fingers instinctively lurch forward to take hold of the other man's hair. Dirk looks poised to continue on his way, and peers up inquisitively at Jake's face in search of an explanation; rather than the anticipated fret, the adventurer's expression conveys nothing but ecstasy and desperation.

Licking his lips once more, Dirk slips lower still, and, with a final, questioning glance up at Jake's face, takes a bit of his cock in his mouth.

Okay, Jake can't deny that it feels incredibly alien to him, but _dear god_ , the wet heat is almost _unbearable_. A strangled moan slips past his lips, earning an uneasy grunt from the mouth around him. "Dirk... Ahh..." His tongue struggles to form coherent words; his chest heaves deeply with every convulsing breath as another shockwave of lust strikes him down. At this rate, he isn't likely to last long; but then, perhaps that's for the best. Actual penetration seems out of the question as well for now, which is probably beneficial to them both (though the aspect is, admittedly, an intriguing one for a later date).

Restraint diminishing with every suck, Jake thrusts upward once, mostly on accident, but manages to gag the blonde momentarily. Dirk gives an aggravated cough, casting Jake a "seriously?" sort of face before dipping down for more, sloppily swirling his tongue around the head and enclosing it in his lips once again.

It takes approximately ten more seconds for Jake's body to writhe and shiver with final release.

Dirk waits it out, still and unwavering, though his face displays a subtle distaste; he promptly spits on the sheet beside them, frowning. Ugh, Jake can only imagine how bizarre that probably tastes, and the aspect is honestly a bit of a turn-off to him.

Breathless and panting, he sinks down into the mattress, a hazy exhaustion consuming his every last inch. "Dirk..." he manages, scooting his head to the right a bit to peer at his boyfriend, who, much to his dismay, is hunched over at the foot of the bed, trying to jerk off swiftly and silently and as subtly as humanly possible. What? Sure, Jake can't provide him with oral, but he could at least help take care of _that_ problem. Sitting upright, he yawns tiredly and nudges at the blonde's shoulder with his knuckles. "Hey, you blighter, hands off. I can do this much."

Dirk's head turns incredulously as Jake all but collapses against his naked back; those tanned arms encircle Dirk's waist as the adventurer's chin comes to rest tiredly atop his shoulder. Dirk's lips part, as if to speak, yet he does not make a sound; his orange irises pull slowly, curiously, toward Jake's hands as they maneuver down to his length.

Adjusting his chin on Dirk's shoulder, Jake takes a deep breath, eyeing his hands as well. He's never fathomed doing this to anyone but himself, but he owes the Strider this much for pleasuring him so, and for everything he's done since that chance encounter at the diner in 1948.

Quivering slightly, his hand slides down and experimentally wraps around Dirk's cock; yes, it's as bizarre an encounter as he imagined it would be. His eyes slip shut, fingers beginning to move a little more, circling and brushing and still quaking so.

The strained noise that spills from Dirk's throat, gutteral and needy, jolts Jake from his sleepy state, if only for a minute or so. Strider is trying to hold back all sounds, all humiliating gasps and moans, to the best of his ability, but his efforts are proven useless against Jake's calloused hands, gentle breaths, uncertainly ragged advances...

All inhibitions are discarded in this fleeting moment.

Leaning his full weight against Jake's front, Dirk thrusts upward, gnashing his teeth as another gruff groan slips through his lips. It takes but another minute or so for Dirk to climax, clawing at the blankets beneath their bodies as a luscious heat shudders through him; he falls back against the other man's body, fistfulls of fabric in his fingers.

Jake wipes his hand on the sheet and sinks to the mattress, an aching exhaustion gnawing away at his consciousness. In a few moments, as he regains mild awareness of his surroundings, Dirk joins his side, curling up beside him with a face still vividly scarlet in hue.

His brain has all but shut down; his eyes fleetingly meet Dirk's own gaze, glossy and weary and beautifully lackluster. For once in his life, he finds himself at an utter loss for words, for so much has already been said in this awkward, breathtaking moment that such malarkey need not be spoken.

Thus, it is Dirk who ruptures the silence, lifting a lazy hand to absently stroke the other's cheek with his knuckle. "You're pretty damn good at that..."

"Hm?" Jake's eyes peer sleepily over at him, and one of his brows lifts casually above his lid. "So were you... I mean, blimey..."

His lips curve upward in a tiny, elfish smirk. Leaning forward, Dirk places a nonchalant, lazy kiss to Jake's mouth and curls up a bit more, eyelids slipping shut; Jake's eyes follow in suit soon after.

The two shall sleep soundly, safely, within the confinement of the night's black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I really don't know how I feel about this chapter.
> 
> I tried. XP
> 
> Thanks for the feedback, as always. I love you all and read everything you say, so... Yeah, greatly appreciated. :]


	20. Chapter 20

It is around 4:30 a.m. when Jake's eyelids part for the first time this Saturday morning.

Flitting over to the clock on the bedside table, his eyes register the time and prompt a quiet groan from his lips. Okay, it is far too early to be waking up on a weekend. Lightly tugging the blankets further up his bare torso, he scoots slightly nearer Dirk's slumbering form beside him; a small grin graces his lips at the sleepy reminiscence of the previous night. Oh, how wonderful their sexual attempts had been...! Awkward and clumsy and hesitant, but so, so wonderful...

Letting a sleepy yawn slip past his lips, Jake presses himself gently up against Dirk's naked back, relishing in the glorious warmth that the other's skin provides.

... But why is his back so wet...?

Eyebrows knitting upon his forehead, Jake lightly trails his fingers along Dirk's arm, which twitches thusly and pulls subconsciously away as the other sleeps with frenetic breaths and the occasional snore or groan. Said arm is also soaked, though perhaps slightly less so than his back or neck. Surely this isn't _sweat_...? He can't imagine what else it could be, to be drenching his skin like this; a bit of it has even rubbed off onto the sheets.

How strange... He does not wish to awaken the other man, but is this truly something so avoidable? If Dirk is feeling discomforted, his face does not let it show, though his breathing is a little labored. Perhaps he has a fever? Concern beginning to fill his chest, he reaches out and runs the back of his hand softly against Dirk's sweaty forehead, trying to make out his expressions in the blurred darkness surrounding them.

He doesn't seem to have a fever, which is good. Perhaps he is simply too warm? It IS May, after all, and all of these layers of bedding probably don't help. Tugging the blankets away from Dirk, Jake curls up and scoots upward slightly, not as flush-up against the Strider as before, but rather only touching his forehead to the other's flaxen blonde hair, which is endearingly disarrayed and messy. Dirk shifts a little, but otherwise does not wake, and does not make another utterance.

Yawning one last time, Jake sniffs absently and closes his eyes, slinging an arm around Dirk's heated torso; the latter shivers in his sleep and curls up more, though he neither awakens nor shies away. Gulping a little, Jake begins to gradually relax himself around the other’s body, positioning himself in a way that he can sleep with greater ease. As his eyelids slip shut, his hold on Dirk loosens, though only slightly, as the blonde shifts once more in his restless slumber.  


For as long as they both shall live, in sickness and in health, Dirk will forever be safe within the refuge of his arms.

~*~*~*~

“’Bout time you woke up, old chum!”

Dirk simply manages a low groan and leans up against the bathroom doorframe, arms folded over his bare chest; he stands entirely, shamelessly nude, though had the decency to put his sunglasses back onto his nose. “Not a word, English. Where are my clothes?”

“In the wash,” he replies plainly, bringing a razor up to his foam-covered neck and running the blade along his jaw. Because this is his house, of course, Jake is clad in a simple pair of pants and a casual white t-shirt. “Feel free to grab some garbs from the wardrobe.”

“In the wash?” One of Dirk’s eyebrows rises above his spectacles, inquiring and doubtful. “They weren’t dirty…”

A grimace grows upon Jake’s face beneath the thick layer of shaving cream. “Err… Maybe not until last night, but… You’re better off not knowing, chap.” Oh, no, he has absolutely no intention of explaining _that_ to the Strider. “Are you feeling under the weather at all? You were sweating like a wild boar last night…”

“That happens. Just get really hot sometimes, that’s all.” Shrugging his shoulders, Dirk disappears behind the doorframe, assumedly to find some clothes to slip on rather than standing around ultimately and indisputably naked.

A small smile sneaks its way onto Jake’s lips, and he can’t help the tiny chuckle that bursts gently from his chest. He, himself, is in an exceptionally good mood this morning, a direct contrast to the slumping nonchalance that these last months have bred. Is it the presence of his lover? The afterglow of sex? He cannot be sure what exactly has produced this sudden mood switch, but he couldn’t possibly be more content in this trivial moment. Refocusing his eyes upon the mirror, he brings the razor back up to his neck, dragging it up along the skin with careful fingers. “Find anything?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dirk’s voice calls back from the bedroom. “I look like a complete freak though.”

“Hey, those are _my_ clothes.” Shaking his head slightly, Jake smirks and continues shaving, sniffing once as a silence settles in. “Are you trying to imply something, you git? Ack…” He winces; a few droplets of blood begin pooling up from a jagged razor cut upon his jaw line. Whoops.

The blonde’s head pokes itself into the doorway, peering over at Jake with a blank expression fixed upon its features. “Cut yourself?”

“Yeah… Just a cut, though. No big deal.”

Giving a little grunt, Dirk steps into the bathroom once again, dressed in a pair of pants that, quite frankly, make him look even scrawnier than he already is (his top half remains bare, perhaps out of regard to the left over heat from his sweaty state earlier). His lips part in a little yawn and his upper limbs stretch stiffly out in front of him as he sleepily approaches his boyfriend; he hooks his arms around Jake’s middle, setting his chin atop the other man’s shoulder and sighing. “It’s too fucking early to be awake.”

“It’s nine o’clock!” Rolling his eyes at him, Jake lightly prods Dirk’s forehead with his finger, though cannot help the stifled grin that remains planted upon his mug. “Now sod off and let me shave.”

Dirk snorts, poking Jake in the side in response; consequently, the latter almost cuts himself again. “Your face was stubble-free yesterday. You can’t have grown that much beard in one night.”

“You’d be surprised. I’m a might hairy fellow, it seems. It’s a right pain in the neck, shaving every day, but if I didn’t, I’d walk around looking like a confoundedly shaggy sasquatch every day…” His emerald eyes fall upon the mirror, settling upon Dirk’s reflected face with a smirk spreading wider still. Dirk never seems to have any sort of facial hair; he must not have the genetics for beard-growing. “What, how often do _you_ shave, then?”

Dirk’s lips give the tiniest of quirks, though Jake can’t quite discern if it is in amusement or mild embarrassment. He says nothing, gives no other expression, and simply leans his face to the side a little, clearly taking comfort in the other’s presence within his hold. A slow breath filters through his nostrils, out and in and out again, tickling Jake’s collarbone a little. The other man cannot help but wonder what could possibly be flowing through Dirk’s mind in this moment, as he stands gawkily within the blonde’s arms. He seems to be contemplating something, but has yet to give any sort of explanation, so Jake simply goes along with it, absently wiping the excess shaving cream from his face and neck with the back of his hand.

Dirk breathes again, repeatedly inhaling and exhaling and inhaling and Jake can feel the arms around his middle clench tighter; the Strider holds him nearer, face downturned and tight mouth pressing firmly into his shoulder. They remain as such for quite some time, to the point where Jake has to wonder if Dirk is truly alright. He cannot see the other man’s face from the nose down, and his eyes are entirely shielded from his prying gaze by those goddamned shades. “Dirk…?”

The resonance of Jake’s hesitant voice seems to have snapped Dirk from his previous reverie, as he now lifts his face up toward the other man and his breathing steadies a little, though admittedly not by much. His lips part, and, with the passing of a few more feathery, fleeting breaths, he speaks at last, voice strained and groggy and laced with a tired Texan drawl. “What all happened while I was gone, Jake?”

“… Not much, honestly…” Jake responds with reluctance, eyeing Dirk’s face in search of something; what that “something” is, he isn’t even entirely certain himself, but there seems to be a particular “something” not quite right with the Strider, and he can’t help but apprehend what that might be. “I mean, it’s not exactly been a ripsnorter of a time without you, chap…”

“Have you been bothered by anyone? About being queer or anything?”

Ever the straightforward fellow, isn’t he? And what’s with this question suddenly coming up out of the blue? Something probably triggered the inquiry within Dirk’s complex mind, but whatever it could have been is well beyond Jake’s (undeniably simplistic) comprehension. “Um… Well, not directly? Gosh, Dirk, it’s a little wacky, I gotta admit. I think the person who busted up my window knows… And the people at the hospital know, for sure. Apart from them, I don’t think we’re out to anyone…”

Slowly taking in every word to flutter off of Jake’s tongue, Dirk nods his head once, face turned towards the floor as, at last, he releases his clutch on Jake’s middle. “Mm. Got it…”

“… Is that all?” Now he’s just going to flat-out drop the subject? What’s with this guy? Surely being away for three months hasn’t changed him in such a way that he would completely lose his mind…? For, to Jake at least, Dirk gives the appearance of a general lunatic, and it would not surprise him all that much if the Strider eventually winds up in a psychiatric hospital. No, Jake thinks bitterly; it wouldn’t take much time at all, actually, considering his status as a homosexual. They would admit him to an asylum as quickly as possible, write him off as a mental case, and try to cure him of his state of mind with primitive torture and forced isolation and amateur lobotomies and _God_ , does the idea make his skin quiver with discomfort.

“Yeah… for now.” Sniffing a few times, Dirk’s breaths finally seem to regulate, and his body returns to its normal indifference. With a final glance in Jake’s direction, he leans over and gently kisses a freshly shaven cheek; it lasts scarcely more than a second or two before he pulls away, and the contact between them is broken.

Jake’s teeth gnaw absently on his lower lip as Dirk begins to walk away, hands shoved into his pockets in a casual discomfort. Is there more to be said? He’s certain Dirk is asking for a reason, but he isn’t sure what exactly the other man is searching for. Gradually, reluctantly, he releases his lower lip and opens his mouth a bit, mustering up the words to say and almost failing in the attempt. “… It wasn’t easy.”

That manages to, at the very least, slow Dirk to a halt in the doorway, though his back remains jarringly exposed to his boyfriend, concealing his face from Jake’s eyes. One of Dirk’s hands clenches within his pocket, visible to the adventurer by a shifting in the fabric. “I know, Jake.”

“Dirk…”

“What day is it today?”

“Saturday the thirteenth…?”

“Okay, cool.” Dirk nods his head once, turning back to look at Jake with a softened expression. “How does two Saturdays from now sound?”

“… Huh?” Jake finds his eyebrows darting upward above his glasses in utter confusion. “What do you mean?”

“For us to leave.” His face remains wholly serious as he speaks, and his hands continue to shift within the folds of his pants pockets. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to blow this hell city and run.”

Dirk is still set on running away with him? Well, the aspect is flattering, and, all in all, greatly appealing, but two weeks? He truly can’t be sure about that duration. It seems so soon, to get everything concluded and done with, but all the same, two weeks is almost too far to guarantee anything, as if the opportunity is dangling before him by a thread and he is a mere whisper away from grasping it in his fingers. Then again, what have they to lose? Since there is no assurance that anyone knows or doesn’t know of their deathly secret, perhaps meeting a middle ground would be the wisest thing to do.

And so, grinning with a mild vacillation, Jake nods his head.

“Sounds like one hell of a splendid plan, my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got an astounding amount of commentary for the last chapter, and I must say that I'm quite flattered by what most of you have to say. I hope that I can continue to please you readers to the best of my ability. :]
> 
> As an estimate of how many chapters are left of this? I'd say anywhere from ten to fourteen chapters. Not sure how many exactly at this point, but I have things that I want to have happen before the end, and then the end will likely be quite long, so...
> 
> Yes! That being said, please continue to comment and add kudos to your desire. You can also post anything you want (that pertains to this or to me) under the StillOTN tag on tumblr, or drop me an ask. See you all next chapter~.
> 
> (On another note, am I a wizard, as one of you asked? Perhaps, perhaps not. That is for you to discern, not I. ;] )


	21. Chapter 21

_”Run away?”_

Jake should have known better than to bring up the subject of their scheme to Jane for the first time _over the telephone_. Then again, he favors this over the idea of telling her in person. He knew she probably wouldn’t take it well, or would deem him screwy or some other unfavorable adjective of the sort. Roxy still doesn’t know, but she isn’t the type to call them complete idiots for even attempting something so reckless and naïve, and will probably either say she’s tagging along or staying here with nary another quip. But Jane Crocker? To hope for such simplicity is foolish in itself.

“Yeah,” he finally responds, wincing at the disbelief dangling from her voice. His hand subconsciously tightens around the phone in his grasp. “Well, I wouldn’t call it “running away”, per se… It’s more of a wily sort of escape from the confinements of–”

_“It’s running away.”_

To that, Jake’s lips dare not part in retort.

_“You’ve plumb gone mad, haven’t you?”_ A brief pause settles in between her sentences; Jake believes he hears an exasperated, defeated sigh on the other line as she struggles for more to say on the subject. _“Oh, Jake, I know things aren’t easy for you right now, but fleeing to a deserted island is just plain wacko!”_

“But it’s _not_ “just plain wacko”, Jane! You don’t know how bad things really are!” He shakes his head incredulously, though notes that she cannot see him and stops the insistent motion before his neck begins to hurt. “It could get right nutty around here if word spreads of our relationship. Besides, we could always come visit...”

_“Do you even realize what you’re saying? All of these “coulds” and “ifs” and… You don’t even know what could happen. There isn’t much hubbub centered on you and Dirk right now and there might never be. The fellas who know about you… Well, your love could slip their minds, and everything would be mostly normal again.”_

“And you said _I’m_ being idealistic!” His brows crease, face growing not angry, but rather slightly frantic; he wants nothing more than for her to understand him, to love him in the same friendly manner she always has. For her and Roxy to tag along would mean the world to him, but even if they must part ways along this tattered road, he can only hope that she will not leave him in the dust, leave him with disapproval and reproach… he isn’t so certain he could bear to live with himself. “The chances of that happening are just as slim, Jane, and you know it.” As if he hasn’t considered all of this already. If they stay here, and continue to be seen by the public eye together, suspicions will probably grow, and from there on more harassment will follow on its trail, and… Well, there’s no telling what could happen. “Whatever way you look at it, we’re about as doomed as could be.”

_“Then break up with him.”_

This suggestion makes Jake’s body freeze in its fidgety motions, and his voice dies for a moment in his throat. Break up with him? After all that they’ve been through together… all that they’ve done for one another? “I don’t think I can do that, Jane…”

_“Well, then I don’t know what to tell you, Jake… You’ve only been together for seven months or so. Remember that.”_

“Some couples get hitched after a week, you know…”

_“You_ can’t _get married, though.”_ She sighs again. _“I’m sorry, Jake. I really am. But I don’t think I can support you on this. I’m not going to stop you, but… Really, I just don’t see this working out, hun.”_

“I know it’s a stretch…” Running a hand through his hair, Jake leans up against the wall, making a face as the cord tugs, ushering him nearer the desk upon which the phone usually resides. “I just don’t know what to do anymore, Jane… I feel like my brain and heart are going to burst…”

A brief pause lingers on the other end. _“… Try talking to Dirk about it. See what he thinks—if he would be okay with just going your separate ways for a tidbit of time. Then plan out what you’ll do for these next few years, instead of jumping right into it… When did you plan on trying to go to the island?”_

“The twenty-seventh.”

_“Of_ May _? Oh, golly, Jake–!”_

He hangs up the phone before she can utter another skeptical reprimand.

He should have known she wouldn’t take that well, really. It’s Jane, after all; she wants what’s best for their individual well-beings, yet is too cynical to see the error of her own opinion. Perhaps breaking up with Dirk is the wisest thing to do, and he will certainly bring it up with the other man the next time they speak, but for the time being, this is the absolute last thing he plans on doing.

Surely this idealistic plot that the two men have concocted is not simply his own personal ploy for gaining another grand adventure in his life? Granted, he’s always had a hankering for adventure, and thrill, and other such things (and he certainly loves the idea of getting to legally use his pistols on a regular basis again), but he hardly thinks he would subconsciously put so much at stake for such ecstasy. Maybe in his youth, for he was quite the audacious little explorer, but as an experienced adult? He’s in his mid-twenties, for crying out loud! Of course this entire plot is deeper than his own personal nostalgia.

… Would cutting his ties with Dirk for a period of time truly be the wisest thing to do?

In the long run, it would solve his multitude of problems—Jake, not being generally homosexual, could continue on with his life as if all of this never happened. But… it _did_ happen, and he loves every moment of time spent loving Dirk. They have the freedom to be as open with one another as they want, to talk and to share fleeting moments of weakness in the eyes of the other solely and intimately. This is a relationship he shares with nobody else, not even Jane or Roxy, and would give it up for absolutely nothing, save the chance of protecting those he loves.

Besides, doing so would be unfair to Dirk, unless the Strider wishes nothing more than to drop Jake on the side of the road (which, he assumes, is incredibly unlikely at this point). Dirk, from what Jake has witnessed, _is_ more or less interested in men (he might also be attracted to women, but he can’t be totally certain thus far). Whether Jake breaks up with Dirk or not, the poor man would be left in the same sour situation as he was prior to meeting Jake, living in near-isolation and observing society from behind a murky glass. Jake takes a personal pride in being one of the reasons for the Strider to more openly participate in events that don’t revolve around working as a mechanic and locking himself in his apartment room every night with those freaky marionettes of his…

No, he tells himself. He could never bear the thought of breaking his promise to stay by Dirk's side.

Shaking his head at the thought, Jake scoots the phone away and begins to walk absently down the hall, yawning sleepily as nine-o’-clock comes swinging around the corner. He stops in his tracks for a minute or so, eyes darting this way and that; he slowly breathes in every essence of the house within which he currently resides. This tacky pumpkin abode has been his for so long, now… Sure, the island will always be his true home, but this shabby little suburban house has really grown on him over the years, and it will surely hold a special place in his heart for an eternity, wherever he settles down.

Today at work was quite strange, he notes in his mind as he retreats into the bedroom. He had to work especially long with exceptional vigor, and then he was let go early. But, then, things around the factory have been a bit iffy as of late anyway. It almost relieves him to be leaving such grueling, monotonous work for better things. His fingers subconsciously clench and unclench by his sides at the thought. Oh, how wonderful it will be to hold those pistols in his clutches again—to take the grip of the gun in his hands, skim his fingers along the slide and pull the trigger back… He can hardly wait.

Maneuvering over to the record player in the corner of the room, he grabs a random vinyl from his collection and places it upon the turntable, fixing the reproducer and letting the music play freely now. “Sentimental Journey*”, eh? Even his haphazard choice of music is reflective of his situation. What a coincidence.

It almost causes a churning in his stomach.

Is Jane mistaken…? Or is he truly so wrong, so damned _blinded_ by this cherished love he has discovered? Prior to Dirk’s affections, he never had any sort of luck with romance; finding potential lovers was a difficult task, and keeping them close was even more complicated. Dirk’s love has been the only romance in which he has been able to fully perform as a partner toward another being. What if this love truly has wrapped a veil around his eyes?–sheer, white, pure, but obscuring all the same.

Now he’s second-guessing himself. Of course his commitment is justified. His love burns strong, an ever-flickering ember within his ribcage, shooting hot flame up through his nerves, to his fingertips, consuming his brain and all functionality in blistering inferno. But that doesn’t mean he has been blinded by love. Any man with a real sense of reason would go to the ends of the earth for the one he loved so ardently.

Then again, most men don’t often find themselves in a situation akin to his, do they?

He still recalls what one of his coworkers told him a few years back—old Harold from the manufacturing lines. He’d had a sister who was found homosexual, and she, having thought herself a lunatic, sent herself to a psychiatric hospital, desperate to find someone who could cure her of her failing sexuality.

She wound up dying of accidental medicinal poisoning two months after admission.

The thought makes him groan slightly, and a shudder creeps along his skin. Maybe he _is_ crazy—not for loving a man, but for ever letting Dirk get close enough to string them into this catastrophic mess in the first place. Then again, he supposes he hasn’t anyone to blame but himself. Love, he thinks, is the only thing on this earth as damning as it is wonderful.

His fingers twist into pistols at his sides, curling and twitching as the thoughts pelt him again and again with the stones of harsh reality.

Oh, blasted mind! The time has come for his head to shut up and let him persevere through all of this. As a youth, he had never been one to let his thoughts control him (then again, he had always been a rather naïve adolescent), to get caught up internally rather than externally…

All of this city life has corrupted him.

Well, bollocks.

As the music fades to silence, he sits down upon the mattress up against the wall, running his hands tentatively along the sheets, breathing steadily a few times as memories of the other night come flooding back; back to the night when all of his racing thoughts silenced themselves at last. When all of his paranoia vanished like a clap of thunder—gone in an instance, with the promise of returning, but decimated for the time being to part for better things.

Why can’t such things happen on a regular basis?

He rummages his hands through his hair, breathing carefully a few more times as he calms down a little in the silence.

Perhaps he hasn’t thought through this plan as much as he would have liked.

But regardless, there is naught to cause such paranoia to swell within his body. Why, he's faced wild beasts and wrestled them down with nothing more than his bare hands! He is far from cowardly, and plenty willing to face his future, whatever it may entail.

At least, this is what he tells himself, hoping within the depths of his heart that he can kid his subconscious into agreeing with him, and perhaps quell the sweating in his palms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Sentimental Journey" by Doris Day (1944)


	22. Chapter 22

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jake raises his hand to the apartment room door and knocks thrice with the backs of his knuckles; such rapping on the wood has become a bit of a code for them, it would seem, an idea Dirk struck up the previous Saturday morning while still over at Jake’s house (though why they need to differentiate between themselves and other people is beyond him).

Wednesday evening has fallen into place before them, and it’s high time he and Dirk have a good discussion about what exactly they think they’re getting into. It’s the last thing he wishes to do; he would like nothing more than to spend time laughing and teasing and every other little simplicity that’s been denied him for three months in the other’s absence, but that must wait for now.

Jake steps back a little, tugging at his shirt collar and wrinkling his nose. It’s uncomfortably hot out here—then again, with his strange, dim anxiety these past few days, perhaps the May sun isn’t the only thing contributing to this. He still cannot pinpoint the source of his discomforts. Jane’s words were harsh, but they should not be affecting him in such a way. Perhaps it’s the entire situation, or the premise that he anticipates something going horribly wrong with their plans. Everything Jane said was hard to hear, and most of it was out of proportion, but she had a point about the number of “coulds” and “ifs” in their plot. A small portion of him has a nauseating feeling that something awful and unseen is yet to come; perhaps confiding in Dirk will help these pessimistic ideas calm as well. Under any other circumstances, he hates relying on other people with his lifelong conflicts, but considering the other man’s involvement in all of this, he supposes it only makes sense to confront him for guidance.

He must wonder if Dirk is feeling as troubled as he is about this.

The door finally opens, slow and creaking in that ear-grating manner is always has, to reveal Dirk Strider in a state of ultimate disarray beyond anything Jake has ever seen. His sunglasses are missing, and his hair is undone and wild. His face is pale as can be, the familiar orange luster of his eyes gone and supplanted by a dull rust.  He wears but a simple wifebeater, old and tattered (possibly from his years in the army), and a pair of casual beige shorts pulled up a bit too high to be fashionably acceptable. His feet bear a pair of black socks; only one of which has a boot to match. Leaning up against the doorframe for support, he peers bleakly forward at Jake, chancing a small smile and turning to yawn into his own shoulder. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Good heavens, chap, you look awful!” Dirk steps aside, allowing the dubious English inside and shutting the door behind them. “Are you sick again?”

“I got no sleep last night. Had to stay late at work again, since it was my first day back.” Shrugging his shoulders, Dirk yawns again and trudges back into the main living area, motioning to the blanketed couch upon which he had probably been sleeping on prior to Jake’s disturbance. “I was catching some sick z’s until you knocked.”

Jake cannot help but roll his eyes lightly at the other’s mannerisms. “Catching some sick z’s”? “You know, most people would just say “sleeping”.”

“You’re one to talk, “old chap”.” Allowing the corners of his lips to twitch upward, Dirk lifts the hand-sewn quilt from the sofa, sitting himself carefully down and wrapping said blanket around his torso. “So what did you want?”

Jake’s eyes flit to the floor, finding it increasingly difficult to meet Dirk’s stare as his frenetic thoughts begin flooding back. How exactly is he to initiate this conversation? He isn’t entirely sure what he is to discuss, let alone how to start in the first place. Swallowing down his limitations, he takes a seat beside Dirk, sitting close, but not near enough to imply any sort of desire for emotional advances. “Dirk… Gosh, I don’t know where to start…” He bites his lip and subconsciously begins tapping his sides; to prevent this habit, he folds his arms over his chest, leaning back further into the cushion. “We need to get things sorted out about next Saturday.”

Stretching his arms out in front of him, Dirk moves to lazily lean against Jake’s side, eyelids slipping shut. “What is there to sort out? Did you talk to Jane?”

“Yeah…”

The hesitation in his voice must have given his results away; that, or Dirk anticipated this much, for he now shifts a little against Jake’s shoulder, and a small frown grows upon his lips. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Roxy wasn’t crazy about the idea either…” His eyes flutter open, half-lidded and lethargic, to gaze up at Jake with that tiredly familiar stoic countenance. “Guess that means we’re on our own.”

Jake frowns, unlinking his arms and slipping one around Dirk’s shoulders, mostly out of a subconscious attempt to comfort himself more so than the other. “R… Right. If you still think this is a splendid idea, I mean.”

That manages to open Dirk’s eyes fully. “Are you having second thoughts?”

Oh, now what is he to say? In a perfect world, he would love nothing more than to run away with Dirk to the island. The best of both of his strongest loves. But, as exhibited by the humanity crumbling to pieces around him, this is _far_ from a perfect world. “Well, don’t get me wrong, I’m as psyched as the next bloke by the aspect of going back home with you, but I’m having trouble wrapping my head around how exactly we’re going to pull this off. I mean, cripes, we’d have to grab a boat or something, and—”

“I have a plane.”

… Somehow, Jake isn’t as surprised as he would have thought. “That’s not the only thing, though… I don’t even know anymore, chum; I’m just really lost, I guess.” There truly aren’t words to describe, to every degree, what he is feeling now, what he has been feeling for days, and it’s driving him positively batty. “I just have the most dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach…”

At this, Jake feels Dirk stiffening against his side. Perhaps the Strider has been having the same unsettling discomfort in his gut? Peculiar, how connected at the heart they truly seem to be at times. “… That’s weird,” he comments after some time, burying his face into Jake’s shoulder and giving a small, shuddery sigh.  “… Hey, Jake?”

“Ah, yeah?”

Dirk visibly pauses for a moment, throat bobbing as he struggles to gather the right words to say. “… Whatever happens these next few days, or weeks, or however long we have to deal with all of this crap…”

“I’m not leaving you.” Jake answers in the same tone as he always does when Dirk tries to say such things. “Really, I would have thought—”

Dirk’s fingers silence him, two digits placed firmly, coldly, against Jake's lips. Looking at him fully now, the blonde gradually shakes his head once, meeting Jake’s eyes with an oddly familiar look; he has not witnessed such a vital stare since their first encounter, that fateful day at the diner. “Not that. I appreciate it, but I need to ask you something else.”

“Wha’ ‘en?” he mumbles out from behind Dirk’s fingers, cringing as his nails accidentally brush his buck teeth.

“… Never stop being a batshit-crazy goof.”

… What? Well, that’s not at all what he expected to come out of the Strider’s mouth.  Where did this come from, all of a sudden? Has Jake been acting strangely these past few days? Oh, at times, he wishes nothing more than the ability to read minds, for Dirk has, quite possibly, the most complex thought process of any man he has ever met.  That, or he has been completely missing something these past three years. “Um… Well, I have no idea what “badshit crazy is”, but—”

“ _Bat-shit_ -crazy.”

“Whatever _that_ means, I’ll try my best not to fail you, I guess. I think. You’ve kind of thrown me for a loop, though, with that wacky lingo of yours.”

Dirk simply laughs—a gentle, rare sort of sound, though it is broken by a yawn and a thick bought of coughing. He really doesn’t seem to deal well with laughing; anytime he tries, his vocal chords get all tickly. Jake rolls his eyes. “I love it when you laugh and all, but don’t keel over and die because you laughed your lungs right out through your throat. Honestly, you baffle me.”

“Heh… As it should be.” He smirks smugly and leans over to plant a sloppy, idle kiss to Jake’s temple. “If we’re gonna waste our lives with nobody but each other on some untamed island, it’s better that we don’t know everything about one another.”

“It _does_ leave some room for discovery, yes…”As always, the Strider has managed to cheer him up a little; much of his prior stress has diminished down to nothing. He can’t help the tiny smile that graces his own face as Dirk kisses him again, the blanket falling from the other man’s shoulders as he moves forward. “Oh, sod off. I didn’t come here to get slobbered on. Or to get reeled into sex again.”

Dirk snorts, collapsing once more against Jake’s side and curling up a little. “I wasn’t after _that_. Not tonight, anyway. Too tired as it is.”

One of Jake's eyebrows lifts a little. "You can go back to sleep. It's just me here."

With a small grunt, Dirk leans further against his side and shuts his eyes. "You're the one who wanted to talk in the first place."

However, in a few minutes' time, the blonde has disregarded all else and fallen under a spell of sweet sleep.

As Dirk's scrawny form steadies beside him, Jake finds his mind drifting over toward the Strider, ushering his gaze toward said man with scrutinizing attentiveness. His eyes idly trace the bridge of his wrinkling nose, the striking curve of his pale jaw; a peculiar tingling rises within Jake’s fingertips. Lightly, his hand lingers over the other’s face, letting his nails gingerly brush across Dirk’s freckled cheek; it twitches faintly beneath his fingers.

This is really happening, isn’t it?

It’s so hard to comprehend these past months—these past _years_. Five years ago, who would have thought he would wind up in such a situation as this? In love with a man like Dirk (no—in love with a man at all), raring to return to his beloved island home… It almost seems too good to be true. He’s never been cut out for affectionately loving another person, and yet… here lays Dirk Strider, living, breathing flesh, willing to give up all he retains here in the states to run away with him to a safe-haven, to a shelter from these restricting, discriminating laws of society.

To paradise.

His tranquil thoughts are broken abruptly by the sound of the phone ringing on the table beside the couch. Oh, that blasted ringing will surely awaken his boyfriend, if it keeps up…! Peering sidelong at Dirk one last time, he reaches over and picks up the phone, holding it up to his ear and muttering somewhat quietly into the microphone. “Jake English speaking.”

“… English?” The voice on the other end sounds a bit surprised, though the subtle snarkiness in his tone subdues all of Jake's prior anticipations. “What’s bro doing right now?”

“Sleeping. Why?” “Bro”? Ah, this must be the infamous Dave he has heard so much about. Well, if this is Dirk’s only known flesh and blood, then he has two options: either make an amazing first impression and try to appeal to the younger man’s better side, or completely disregard formalities and act as immature as possible. Somehow, the second option seems more appropriate, but from what Dirk has relayed to him, Dave is an awesome little snot, so perhaps it would be best to just wrap up this conversation as quickly as possible.

He can hear Dave snort lightly on the other end. “Tell him to wake the fuck up and let me know when I need to have his plane ready.”

Jake makes a face. “We’re leaving on the twenty-seventh. Next Saturday. No need to flip your lid.”

“Flip my—”

“Need anything else, Dave?”

“Not from you.” A small smirk spreads across Jake’s face that Dave’s tone. It’s oddly amusing to him, how peeved Dave seems to be; maybe he just doesn’t like the idea of Dirk having a boyfriend. Come to think of it, what _does_ Dave think about their taboo relationship? He’s Dirk’s kin, but that often doesn’t stop anyone from shunning their homosexual sibling. The grin fades slightly from Jake’s face at the thought. What if Dave really does disapprove of their love? Dirk’s only living family, to Jake’s knowledge… How awful it would be if the younger Strider thought negatively of their relationship! “Hey, dude?”

 “Huh…? Oh, uh, yeah?”

“Take care of him.” A pause lingers on the other end for a moment. “He’s been through more shit than he lets on. Seriously.”

“So I’ve heard…” Any doubts he had about the young Strider are all but nonexistent at the time being. He regrets ever thinking such negative thoughts about Dave prior to these words; he should know better than to judge a Strider so quickly. “You’ve got my word, my good fellow.”

“’Good fellow’? Dear God…”

The line goes dead on the other end, causing a small chuckle to slip past Jake’s lips. Ah, he sure seems like an interesting bloke… He can only hope to meet Dave in person someday, once all of this turmoil is said and done.

Placing the phone down on the table, he sighs gently through his nose, turning his head briefly to glance at the elder Strider sleeping contently at his side; Dirk shifts a bit and buries his face deeper into Jake’s ribs, which is mighty uncomfortable for the latter, but he daren’t move from his spot and chance awakening the former.

They have a long couple of weeks ahead of them.


	23. Chapter 23

" _What?_ " Jake's eyes widen in disbelief, an incredulity striking him square in the chest. "What do you mean you "can't serve me"?"

It is a composed, boring sort of Thursday morning--or, rather, it is until this most recent madness. As he has done every other morning for the past five years or so, Jake English assumes he will stop by the diner on the way to work this morning; and yet, he hardly makes it past the door without Aranea holding a hand out in front of him, slowing him to a sudden halt. "You heard me. I'm sorry, Jake, but my manager said I can't serve you today."

His stomach gurgles and groans within his abdomen. What sort of absurdity is this? They should have no problem making a buck or two off of his breakfast bill. He's having a nasty waffle craving, and damn it all, he's going to get some breakfast if it's the last thing he does! "Well, why not? Sounds pretty off the rocker, to me."

"I don't know. He just said not to serve you." She lightly rolls her eyes at him, though lightens up enough to chance a small smile. "Don't let him know I told you this, but there's a new doughnut shop a few streets down..."

“… Nah, that’s okay…” Hmm. How bizarre; plenty of other people are sitting down around them, munching on pancakes and eggs and whatever may you. Allowing his gaze to slowly trail around the room, he narrows his eyes a little and pushes his glasses back up his nose, nodding curtly to Aranea and turning away from her. This is bloody strange, and something about this entire setup doesn’t sit well with him. “Chipper.”

Frowning, he slips through the large wooden door and steps back outside, kicking up a puddle of sloshy rainwater beside the doorway. Why in the world would they deny him the right to sit down and eat breakfast? He probably makes up for about a fourth of their monthly profits, considering how frequently he visits before work. Well, if they are going to be so insufferably tight about it, then perhaps he is doing the world a favor by not allowing himself to purchase anything off of their menu.

Wait… Does this mean he can never order any food from that diner again…?

He has not yet thought about that. Well, sure, he’s only going to be here for another week-and-a-half anyway, but that still doesn’t mean he wouldn’t want to grab a bite to eat while on a visit or something (for, especially with Roxy and Jane staying here, he’s bound to need some visiting time).

This is all nothing short of baffling.

Shuffling along, Jake peers down at the leather watch upon his wrist, noting the time in the back of his mind. Well, it’s a bit early, but there is no harm in checking into work early and making certain that everything is in order. After all, the earlier he begins working, the earlier he gets to go home, and that’s one luxury he typically doesn’t partake in unless absolutely necessary.

He has quite the astounding number of things to pack, after all.

His boots clack and splash in the layer of leftover rainwater swathing the sidewalk; his gait drags his feet a bit as he walks. Just think, he tells himself—in a few weeks’ time, he’ll be seeing rain again on a regular basis, feeling the cool droplets trickle onto his skin, smelling the wet scent of recent rain as it lingers in the atmosphere below varying gray clouds… And when it isn’t raining, it’s sunny as can be, bright and warm and, oh, so pleasant. He can hardly wait.

Before too long, the familiar little factory comes into his field of vision, retaining the same bitterly drab qualities as always (though he cannot say he really expected anything different from this norm).  Readjusting his Homburg, Jake picks up the pace a little, wincing as a splatter of water slings up into his left sock. Should have worn galoshes today, he thinks with a sigh. Whoops. Ah well, no matter; a little water never hurt anybody, especially not a daring young chap such as himself.

Well, young enough, anyway. He’s only twenty-five, which isn’t especially old… But then, it’s not exactly a young age either. He’s also the oldest of the four of their friends; Roxy is also twenty-five, but younger, Jane is twenty-four, and Dirk is, much to his amusement, twenty-three (the curious fellow had apparently made it into the war underage). It was a bit weird, accustoming to the idea of Dirk being two years younger than him, but when all is said and done, it really isn’t too troubling. Besides, he’s bound to turn twenty-four soon, and then the difference won’t sound as great. Nonetheless, it’s the fifties, for crying out loud! Age should hardly matter in a case of love, and, generally speaking, two years is practically nothing.

Then again, sexuality should hardly matter in a case of love as well, and look where that has landed them.

Shaking such thoughts from his head, Jake approaches the building and wipes his waterlogged shoes off on the grassy patch beside the entrance. Pushing the door open, he steps inside and peers forward, removing his coat and slinging it over his arm. Time to get changed and get to work.

As he begins to walk, he cannot help but notice the peculiar stare of one of his coworkers resting firmly, gravely, upon him. “Hm? Crikey, Morris, you look pretty bogged down… What’s chewing your prop?”

“You’ll be lucky if you keep your job after this, English.” A disgusted vapor practically seeps from his eyelids—the imagery makes Jake involuntarily shiver.  “Hold your tongue and you might stay.”

One of Jake’s brows rises above his spectacles; his fingers fidget a little at his sides. “What…? What the _dickens_ are you prattling on about?”

The other man sneers, tearing his eyes from Jake’s body and slipping his coat on higher. “Pervert.”

“What are you talking ab..?” His voice begins to trail as a greater comprehension of the impending situation settles momentously in. Surely not...? “What did you just call me?”

“You heard me, pervert!” Morris waves his fists at the other man, a wild fervor rising up in his beet-red face. “I’m not changing in here with a cat like you hanging around.”

… Is...

Is word… out…?

They know…

Oh, God, they _know…_

His coworkers know.

His boss knows.

And apparently the diner knows (at least, this would be his best guess as to why they wouldn’t serve him earlier).

A clawed hand takes hold of his heart; a tight clenching stretches from his chest to his throat, and he finds himself swallowing a few times to deny the urge to vomit right here and now. How…? How on earth has word spread—and why now, of all times? Is it just fate? Is this the way things were meant to be? Who told everyone—or has this rumor been spreading thinly throughout these past months, too subtle and under wraps for surfacing until today—entirely outside of his knowledge?

He finds that he must swallow once more.

“… Bugger off.” Shoving past Morris with a rigid expression on his face, Jake pushes himself into the changing room; thankfully enough, having arrived at the workplace early this morning, Morris is the only other employee in the vicinity, apart from the boss and other such higher-ups on the next floor over.

“Damn it…!” he hisses under his breath, accidentally spitting a little through his teeth; he begrudgingly swipes the stray saliva from his chin, eyes clenching tight in frustration. The room closes in around him—a sticky sweat begins beading in droplets upon his neck. How could this happen? So close are they to reaching their ideal destination, to reaching rapture… And now all of this…

Can they truly wait until next Saturday?

… Do they even have a choice?

Groaning at his own confusion, Jake runs his fingers through his hair, calming himself little by little. Having a mental breakdown never solved anything. Dirk told him to stay strong, to never stop being a “bat-shit crazy goof”. Well, goofing off in such a dire situation as this is not the wisest decision, but dwelling within the depths of his own liquid misery is not helping any more so. Now is not the time to let him slip away from himself. “Calm down, English…” he mutters, running his fingers more ardently through his dark locks. “You’re a raring bloke. Are you a valiant adventurer or aren’t you? You can handle a little derogatory hogwash…”

Sticks and stones, right?

Unfortunately, those sticks and stones are being pelted mercilessly at him in the form of verbal exploitation.

At this point, can he really do much more than he already has? There is nothing in his power that can stop this turmoil from cascading into a rippling sort of disaster. Why, if the diner and the factory are already in the know, who else is aware of his taboo relationship with Dirk Strider?

… Dirk Strider.

How much of this harassment will fall upon the younger man’s shoulders? Will Jake’s own revelation be enough to unearth Dirk’s homosexuality? A fresh fear sifts through his body, jolting his shoulders with an involuntary flinch. What if, as he sits here in dread, Dirk is being beleaguered or taunted or _arrested_ or—no, he mustn’t think in such a way. Pessimism is not becoming. It is not acceptable.

So why is it so infuriatingly _difficult_ to train the negativity out of himself?

“Hey, you done in there, English?” Morris’ voice grates against his eardrums; a low knock thuds on the other end of the door—the faintest of taps, yet to Jake’s ears, infinitely deafening. “Hurry up. Frank wants to speak with you.”

Frank—in other words, the head honcho himself. Yes, Jake doubts quite deeply that he will liberate any scrap of stability and self-control he has retained up to this point and have a mental breakdown sometime before their departure, especially if he loses his job here in a few days’ time…

… What’s with these scattered thoughts?

Rubbing wearily at his eyes, he rises from the bench and throws the door open, eyeing Morris with a pitying glare; another coworker stands beside him now, a younger man recently hired, equally aghast, equally disapproving.

Something within him urges him to lift his head, holding his chin high in a dignified sort of manner. Is he an English or isn’t he? Despite his worry, he is _not_ ashamed of his love for Dirk, and no act of discrimination or abuse will ever sway his steadfast affections.

Okay, so he’s been ashamed from Day One, and even he cannot deny it: ashamed of what he has become, of his inexperience with love, and of his smoldering shame in and of itself.

But he is not ashamed to be homosexual, if even only fractionally, if even only for Dirk.

~*~*~*~

Jake English is fired from his job approximately one hour later.

He can’t say it’s an incredible shock—although he would not have expected that this morning, after the discoveries made prior to his arrival into the boss’ office, he has, albeit dreadfully, been anticipating this for a while now. Still… Leaving the country or not, the idea of being fired and therefore jobless has left him with an ultimately unpleasant feeling deep within his gut. If this plan doesn’t work out… Well, where will that leave him? Unemployed and unmarried at twenty-five years old? It's practically unheard of!

Sighing dismally to himself, Jake pushes past the factory doors, a newfound heaviness weighing down his feet a bit as he trudges along the sidewalk. It's so odd, walking back from work so early in the day, and he can't say he's especially fond of it.

What is to happen to him now? He's a little foggy on Texan law regarding identified homosexuals, but there is always the possibility of getting arrested, especially now that word has apparently spread to a few familiar organizations around town. Harassment is also always a possibility--no, a _likelihood_.

Whatever happens to him is bound to happen to Dirk as well. The poor Strider, sickly and queer and bizarrely characterized... Why, he hardly stands a chance in such a harsh society! With the Strider's peculiar personality, he stands even less of a chance than Jake. Would Dirk's status as a veteran assist him in at least getting the services he deserves? Somehow, with a sickened grunt, Jake suspects that would make absolutely no difference.

His boots drag a little in the wetness beneath his feet. A number of other people pass him by, adults and children and everything in between, on the way to school or work or whatever may you. Rush hour.  So many people spot him, pass him by, brush him... He feels infinitely small, naught but a mere rat, frowned upon and tiny and riddled with a reputation for disease.

They find him disgusting. 

Pair after pair of prying eyes meet his own; disapproval and mockery flash within their blinking irises. _Queer. Cocksucker. Sodomer._ Their gazes speak with venomous pupils, dilated and aroused from lethargy by the sight of an unsheathed reject--a metaphorically naked man utterly helpless against their repulsion. Every last glance, however meaningless and trivial on the surface, is cast with intent to kill, and he is caught in a thorny trap without his beloved pistols, without any hope of survival.

Jake English has fallen out of the closet, and no longer has he any hope of crawling back in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might take a while to write. I also expect it to be a bit longer than these past few have been.


	24. Chapter 24

What is he to do?

A low sigh flutters past parted lips as Jake sits down upon a little black bench by the road, pondering over his next step in this sticky situation. All in all, he is, strange as it may seem, reluctant to move forward without thinking this through, if even only marginally. Under normal circumstances, he has always been one to leap in head-first with vigor, but now... he can't afford to be so reckless. Now he isn't the only one in danger, and to lack caution in any task could prove fatally idiotic.

He's at risk, but so is Dirk. Hell, so are Jane and Roxy, and they are but associated with them, nothing more! The tight friendship between the four of them is clear as day to most of the people in this little suburb, and as such could be easily manipulated by his fellow citizens. Will people suspect Dirk as his lover? Will they assume Roxy and Jane to be homosexual as well? Either way, the three of them are almost assuredly going to be bothered, if only mildly, all because of the spilling of Jake's secret.

How did word even get out? Throughout these past months, he and Dirk have taken every last measure to prevent anyone from discovering their romance. Dirk has not even been in town for the past three months or so! He only just recently returned, and the two haven't hung out all that much since, so the chance of such revelation is even slimmer. On top of that, word has spread quicker than he ever would have anticipated, and to have already reached the diner and the factory--

Oh, how all of this makes his head throb...!

Is there any possible way to solve this? He cannot help but doubt that there is. There's no longer any chance of going back to what used to be. Even if he follows Jane's advice and drops his relationship with Dirk, the damage has already been done.

Dirk...

Yes, the two of them need to talk, if even for only a short while. Subconsciously, it's the absolute last thing he wants to do right now, lest he completely lose his composure in front of the other; however, he doesn't think that there are many other options at this point. This turn of events could alter their plans entirely (though hopefully not drastically so).

Giving a low sigh, Jake places his hands onto his knees and pushes himself groggily up from the bench, dusting off his pants and beginning to walk casually along once more. It's early, so the likelihood of the Strider being home right now is slim, assuming _he_ still has a job in this mess. Then again, from what Jake has heard, Dirk's boss is a bit looser with that sort of thing. Either way, it will be best to wait and consult him sometime tonight, if they are to discuss any alteration to their grand, crazy scheme.

Well, he supposes he can use this time to go home and finish packing up his belongings.

The thought makes that bitter churning in his abdomen return.

~*~*~*~

After what feels like a lifetime, it reaches eight o'clock in the evening, and at last Jake can speak to Dirk. He just hopes dearly that the Strider is actually home, given what he is risking by visiting another man's house (rather, another man whom he is frequently seen with anyway). As a precautionary measure, he makes sure to dress as subtly and modestly as possible--he dons his familiar glasses and his Homburg hat, but covers the rest of his body from head to toe in his slightly-more-formal outgoing attire, perhaps to imitate a night-shift worker on his way to work.

Work… Huh. It’s a bit strange to consider the idea of not having a job, of being unemployed… Blimey…

No, no. He must focus on the task at hand. Now is far from the time to be ADD. He shakes his head vigorously and proceeds onward, nearing Dirk’s apartment after a while and climbing the stairs with gritted teeth and frenzied impulses. Raising his hand out ahead of him, he knocks urgently upon the door, once, twice, thrice, and steps back, tapping his fingers anxiously against his belt with a subconscious hope that his beloved pistols are nestled inside. Unfortunately (and quite obviously), this is not the case, though his innermost feelings are beating him silly over that fact. Back on the island, whether faced with adversity or strolling to pass the time, he daren’t ever leave home without his trusty weapons. Is this damning society of his truly so different? The same perils and the same beasts; perhaps in different forms, but one in the same nonetheless.

The door creaks open after a few moments, causing Jake to visibly wince; if they weren’t leaving in a few days’ time, he would certainly have insisted that Dirk fix that dad-gum door of his. Said Strider stands there before him, dressed casually for the night with a bottle of beer placed contently within his fingers. Strangely, he wears his sunglasses, despite the dark state in which he keeps his home; perhaps he has just gotten home recently. Whatever the case, those shades rest typically upon his pale freckled nose, though his orange gaze pokes barely out from above, as the glasses have slid down a little in his rush to answer the door. All in all, he doesn’t seem all that unfazed, so either he remains unaware of the impending situation or simply does not give a care, in that cool, composed manner of his.

Curse the Strider for being able to maintain such poise.

“Hey Jake.” Dirk steps aside to allow the other space to enter if he so desires. In response, Jake peers warily over his shoulder and inches forward, slinking quickly through the doorway and into the front-most space of the room. “… What are you doing?”

Perhaps he does look ridiculous; it’s entirely possible, given his strange imitation of David Harding* or whatever it is he is doing… But that is something he is willing to risk at this point, especially in the eyes of the only man on this earth whom he can act as foolishly around as he desires. As Dirk shuts the door behind him, Jake leans back against the wall, letting out a small exhale of relief. “Golly, these rags are hot…” Tugging at his collar, he throws his coat aside and removes his long-sleeved overshirt, leaving him in dress pants and a simple dull green tee.

One of Dirk’s brows lifts inquiringly. “Then why are you dressed to go to a formal dinner party?”

“Oh, sod off!” Jake’s ears grow hot with embarrassment. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through today?”

“Uh… No.” Dirk looks on at him with a deadpan sort of expression. “I haven’t seen you since Tuesday.”

… Oh, right. Jake gives an inward groan, slinking to the floor and plopping down on his bottom. He supposes that means that the Strider has, indeed, not heard of the situation at hand. “It’s a bloody mess, bloke… It really is…”

Taking another quick sip of his beer, Dirk sets the bottle aside and kneels down beside the other man, prodding him lightly with a gloved hand—he must have been working on that weird mechanism again, which would explain the sunglasses. “Hey, dude, you okay?”

A small snort sneaks past Jake’s nostrils. “No… No, I’m not... Hell, Dirk…” The words catch in his throat. What can he say? Truly? He has had the utmost difficulty in comprehending this himself, let alone explaining it to another person in the entanglement. Drawing his lower lip under his teeth, he pushes his back up harder against the wall until it hurts, tapping fingers against his belt again before peering reluctantly up at the other man. Through his sunglasses, Jake can make out a faint image of Dirk’s eyes in the faint light seeping in from the drawn curtains.

He can hardly manage to form the dreadful words on his tongue.

His lover’s eyes, warm and brilliant and careful, settle upon his face once again, flitting around in search of something: an explanation, a furthering of his sentence, or perhaps a simple emotion. On the exterior, Dirk is so cold, so stoic and unwavering. And yet… Within, resting deeply in those scrutinizing pupils, there lies the very depth of his soul, frail and compassionate, a side of himself revealed to nobody but Jake exclusively.

They are connected–at the soul, at the heart, at the mind.

And so it understood is that Dirk is just as broken a man as Jake has become.

In the midst of his discovery, Jake meets the other’s stare firmly as he can muster, letting a low sigh release itself from his lungs. “I’m out, Dirk...”

The blonde seems to consider this for a minute, lips parting to speak, yet not a sound slips past. Jake takes this as a sign to continue. “Dunno if you’ve been found out too, but it wouldn’t come as a right shocker to me if you are…” He swallows. “I’ve already been fired. The diner won’t serve us either…”

He can see Dirk’s tongue dart to his cheek, watching his teeth slip above his lower lip. At last, the Strider speaks, though his gaze has dropped to the floor. No, Jake decides, Dirk _definitely_ wasn’t aware of the situation at hand prior to his arrival. “… Word’s finally out, huh?”

“It would seem so, my good fellow…”

Jake chances a whisper of a smile, a nervous sort of twitching of the lips, though it hardly seems to affect Dirk’s sudden mood change. The Strider snorts and picks up the beer bottle, taking another large swig and tossing the empty bottle aside. “Fuck… Well, that sucks…” He turns away, clearly calculating all the possibilities in his head. “Does anyone else know?”

“No idea…” His awkward grimace becomes a frown. “But I don’t reckon it’ll be too much ticking until the word has spread to the entire town.”

Slowly, Dirk nods his head beside him, scooting back suddenly to lean against the wall next to Jake. “Probably not.” Sniffing once, he lightly nudges Jake’s shoulder with his own; for one reason or another, Dirk’s body gives a little quiver against his own, and goose bumps gradually begin to rise along his white skin. “So what do you want to do?”

“… I don’t know, Dirk.” Jake shrugs a little, puffing out a bit of breath through his lips. “I was hoping you’d have a solid scheme up your sleeve, but since you didn’t even know, I really have no idea. This isn’t up my alley, you know?”

Dirk seems to ponder this for a bit, studying his hands in thought as he mulls the plan over. “We could leave this Saturday instead of next. But that leaves us with one hell of a time crunch.”

This Saturday? But, by jove, that’s so soon! He would give anything to have just one last week in the little Houston suburb, regardless of how difficult and dull life has been here for so many years… But, then again, should they wait much longer, word will surely spread, and disaster thusly fall. “I’m already packed and everything, so that could work… I still wish we had more ti—”

His thought process is interrupted by a cheekbone dropping down onto his shoulder; Dirk has slid down to awkwardly lean his face into Jake, though soon corrects the error of his ways, realizes his strangely sudden lapse, and sits upright once more. At the older man’s questioning expression, Dirk shakes his head and sits upright, giving a tired yawn and a few congested coughs.

“Still feeling under the weather?”

“Yeah, some…” Dirk yawns again and leans back further into the wall, removing his shades and placing them on the floor beside him. “Just tired, mostly.”

A concerned look passes across Jake’s face. “Are you still on medication?”

“Technically, yeah, but it hasn’t done me any good.” He shrugs, and peers up at Jake, as if to speak once more, but finds the words dying on his tongue. A look of uncertainty, of dread, lingers in his eyes, and his lips quirk ever-so-slightly downward. “Hey… Jake—”

“If we leave Saturday…” Jake hardly even seems to notice that he has blatantly interrupted Dirk’s words, though the Strider makes no further point to speak his mind.  “… Then tomorrow is our last real day living here… What do you say we make the most of it?”

“What, you want us to blow each other senseless in the park in broad daylight?”

“… That’s not exactly what I had in mind, no…” Jake smirks slightly, despite the heat rising to his face. “But, you know, throw their codswallop back at them. One last hoorah. Nothing too drastic—just a regular outing. Dinner, a movie, something like that. But no inhibitions.” For some reason or another, his inner adventurer is itching for a little excitement. “Show them that they can't get between us. So what if we’re in a homosexual relationship?”

“Gay.”

“… What?”

“Out in Elko, I heard a couple like us refer to each other as “gay**”, not “queer” or “homosexual”.” Dirk shrugs again, nudging Jake’s shoulder once more. “I figured it could catch on.”

What a strange term for homosexual, Jake muses. All the same, it’s a way to refer to each other in a way that won’t catch the attention of those around them. On top of it all, he and Dirk are plenty happy to be in the arms of one another, and that is something he feels proud to exert through word.

"But yeah," Dirk continues, lips contorting upward in a faint smirk. "All day tomorrow. Just you and I. Sound good?"

Jake nods almost instantly. "Sounds brilliant..." The day's prior fear and uncertainty still lingers deep within him, this he cannot deny; and yet, veiling over said anxiety is the pride, the love he feels for his boyfriend... Yes, he is astoundingly proud to be gay with Dirk, more so than he was to be simply another "cocksucker", for truly he has never felt such elation in the presence of another human in his lifetime.

In the presence of Dirk Strider, he is free to be happy--free to be gay, and this is something that can never be altered by society. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm reaaaally not too sure about this chapter (I feel like I say this too often...). Hopefully the final six or so chapters make up for these crucial-but-intermission-esque chapters.
> 
> *David Harding: A radio-broadcast-turned-movie involving a "counterspy"  
> **The term "gay" meant almost solely "bright" until the mid-20th century. By the late 50s-60s, it came to mean homosexual. Studying American slang/term patterns, most trends begin in the west and travel east, thus why Elko has a homosexual couple referring to themselves as "gay" while the usage is entirely foreign to Jake.


	25. Chapter 25

Never has the idea of publically holding hands ever crossed Jake’s mind prior to this day, and as such, he denies the offer when Dirk reaches over to experimentally grasp at the other’s fingers. It isn’t necessarily that he must reject the Strider out of distaste, for under any normal, covered circumstances, he would gladly do such and more. No, his main disapproval of such public displays of affection lies in the bubbling uncertainty resting dormant in his stomach.  Despite the fact that this limitless date of theirs was his idea to begin with, he cannot shake the feeling that being any more obviously gay to the public eye will land them in further trouble, in this day before their departure.

And he’s not so sure he can deal with such levels of stress right now.

“Where do you want to go?” Dirk asks casually; his body grows minimally nearer Jake’s as they stroll along the sidewalk, likely as a temporary replacement for the other’s hand. “Any movies or shit out right now?”

“You silly nong, there are _always_ movies out.” Rolling his eyes, Jake struggles to hold back the wide smirk threatening to spread across his lips. Instead, he nudges Dirk’s side with his own, shaking his head and letting the toothy grin to slip onto his face. “We could go see one, if you want. But I think I’ve already seen most of them… Got awfully bored without you around all these months.”

This statement seems to amuse the Strider immensely, as his lips quirk upward and his brow creases behind his triangular shades. Smug bastard. All the same, he does not say any more on the matter, and instead changes the subject entirely, pausing in their walk for a moment as he speaks. “So, seriously, what do you want to do?”

Jake ponders this for a minute or so, absently nibbling the inside of his cheek as he thinks. “Not that I know of… I’d be fine just meandering around, personally. It’s not like we can have a whole lot of adventurous merriment in this hole of a town…”

“We could have all sorts of “adventurous merriment”, Jake…”

“Excluding sex.” He rolls his eyes again. Honestly, they have sex once, and Dirk suddenly thinks he can drop hints like these as freely as he desires. “And keep your voice down, old chap, people can hear us.”

“Let them hear.” Shrugging, Dirk smirks wider and nudges him in return, reaching up to knock Jake’s hat slightly askew. “We only have to stay here one more day; I called up Dave earlier and he said he can have the plane ready by Sunday. It’ll take that long to drive out to Elko anyway.”

“Wowsers, I can’t believe it…” They really _are_ leaving tomorrow, aren’t they? It’s almost impossible to believe. Readjusting his hat, Jake gives a wider grin and turns the corner, peering around for something else for them to do to pass the time, preferably something they won’t get to do on a regular basis once they leave the state.

Something that doesn’t involve sex, either.

He clears his throat at the thought, wishing the heat in his cheeks to fade. Yes, he supposes he could treat the blonde tonight, as he himself has been in need for a day or so as well. All of this stress has taken a toll on him, after all… And besides, the first time, however awkward and clumsy, had been rather pleasant (dear god, it was bloody _brilliant_ …), and—oh, confound it.

He’s taking Dirk to bed tonight. Decision made, done. Execution pending. No further thoughts on the subject are necessary.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the blonde stifling back a snorted laugh. It would seem he has noticed the sudden falter in Jake’s gait.

… Fucking Strider.

“Why I decided to run away with _you_ , of all people, is beyond me.” Folding his arms across his chest, Jake turns sharply and enters a little malt shop joint, responding not only to the mockery of Dirk’s subtle expressions but also to the rumbling in his stomach. “You’re such a bloody dork sometimes…”

To this, the Strider has no response, and instead opts for following closely behind his boyfriend into the restaurant; subconsciously or not, he slides his shades further up his nose, and the smirk drops. Raising an eyebrow at the other’s sudden change in mood, Jake takes the initiative to remove his wallet from his coat pocket, picking out a dollar and waving it in front of Dirk’s face. “Want something to munch on?”

“I’m good for now…”

A look of concern flashes across Jake’s features. “You really should eat more. Seriously, you’re thin as a rod.”

“I’m just never hungry.” Dirk shrugs, and somehow this motion makes him cough again. “The meds don’t help, anyway.”

Jake pauses in their conversation to order himself a milkshake, and orders one for Dirk anyway, in case he changes his mind. Taking a long sip of the thick chocolate drink, he sits down at a table, leaving room for Dirk to do the same in the seat across from him. “What are you going to do when we leave, then? Will they send medication out that far?”

“Probably not. But since they’re just placebos, I might as well see if I can last without them. If not, I’ll just stock up when we come back on visits.” Hesitantly, Dirk leans forward and places the straw of his own drink to his lips, taking an experimental sip and groaning soon after. “Yeah, no.”

Sighing to himself, Jake takes another long drink, idly peering around at the few people surrounding him; thankfully, it is still a weekday, and only five o’clock or so, and therefore a lot of people are wrapping up the work day right now. All the same, he can feel the eyes of one of the employees lingering upon them a bit too long. Well, if word has spread, then at least not _everyone_ in town is aware of their homosexuality. Or the rest of these people simply don’t care enough to get involved, though this seems incredibly unlikely.

“Well, it’s been fun, mate.” Sheepishly, Jake chances a grin, lightly bumping his knee against Dirk’s under the table. He lifts his malt cup up a little, taking one more sip before holding it out toward the other man. “Cheers to a chipper life together?”

For a moment, Dirk appears to have disregarded his lack of appetite, and as such grabs his own cup from the table. "Cheers." Tapping his tall paper cup to Jake's, he gives one more short cough and takes a little sip, matching his boyfriend's drink duration despite his apparent distaste towards malts.

At the other man's mannerisms, Jake finds himself grinning broadly. It's nice to see his guile quirks come out in a public setting. These subtleties are perhaps more meaningful than any spoken phrases, for through these motions and glances, verification of their affections is at its greatest prominence. They are on the same wavelength, connected by the same unbreakable thread, bound eternally by some internal, inexplicable link... Beyond their control, beyond their mental capacity.

And as such, Jake finishes his malt with nary another utterance, ignoring the disapproving glances of his peers as he reaches across the table to clasp their fingers together.

~*~*~*~

The remainder of the day is relished in such similar respects, flitting around town, doing this thing and that. Yes, Jake must admit that some of their “adventures” (the term he has been referring to them as, mostly to spite the Strider) have been a bit childish (watching movies at a normal theater, bowling a game or two, that sort of thing). Regardless, there’s no shame in feeling a decade younger, especially in one’s last moments in the town that has been his home for many years now. And, yes, to add to their apparent immaturity, they have, although sparingly, acted a bit more-than-friendly on a few occasions. Nothing too drastic, no more than a hand-hold or a touch here and there.

No, Jake has told himself throughout the afternoon. Such more intimate touching shall come later.

And so, as the sky above splays out in vibrant purples and oranges, Dirk and Jake conclude the day on a casual walk back from their most recent event, falling into stride beside each other. They do not brush, nor do their hands come into contact, though stand possessively near one another as they speak idly amongst themselves (rather, as Jake does 95% of the talking).

“—it was absolutely _wily_!” Jake’s arms lift in exuberance as he concludes his story, face growing warm and hands getting shaky from the enthusiasm with which he explainef his tale. “Truly is a pity you couldn’t be here, my good fellow.”

Sighing contently, Jake’s eyes drift up toward the sky as they walk, curiously gazing into the vivacious hues outlining the curves and contours of the clouds floating above their heads. “It’s getting cloudier, isn’t it? What a shame.”

“Guess so,” Dirk responds, despondent as always.

His tone deters the other man a little, though the Strider often seems to get lost in his own thoughts, so perhaps this is simply one of those commonplace times. All the same, Dirk has been acting a bit more peculiarly than normal today, and this is something which Jake cannot help but question somewhat. That, or Dirk changed quite a bit over his three month absence. He’s matured, or sobered up, or something of the sort. None of those words quite fit, though what exactly has been eating at the Strider cannot be placed into exact words, as far as Jake can tell. “Hey, you okay?”

“Hm…? I’m sicknasty awesome. Sicker than a—”

“Sicker than a bodgy puppet strung up by its donger?”

“… Sure.”

Jake smirks wider at Dirk’s confusion, giving a hearty laugh and slapping him familiarly on the back, perhaps a bit too hardly, as he suddenly winces in mild pain and coughs a few more times. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that…” Sheepishly, he peers around for a moment before hooking an arm around Dirk’s shoulders, ignoring their similar heights for a brief moment to give him a little half-hug. “Egad, and you said you had strife with your brother? I hardly believe it, with the state you’re in.”

Dirk’s eyes narrow behind his sunglasses, and a small snort rips out from his nostrils. “Wanna test that out?”

At the sudden challenge, Jake tightens his hold on the Strider’s shoulders, nearly knocking Dirk’s shades clear off of his face as he tugs him closer. “Sure you want to face me in this position, you dill? I do have the upper han— _ack!_ ”

A rock about the size of a compass lands upon the pavement before him; it clacks lightly against the concrete beside his shoe.  Jake’s hand unhooks from Dirk’s shoulder and rises to the back of his head, nurturing a small bump already beginning to form beneath his hair. A sticky warmth trickles slowly and minimally onto his fingers; the open cut stings numbly against his touch. His eyes widen slightly as realization gradually replaces his state of shock.

Did somebody just...?

Beside him, Dirk chances a quick glance of concern before whirling around to eye their adversary; much to his dismay, the perpetrator, whomever he or she may be, is nowhere to be found. As a frown settles onto his features, Dirk lightly grasps Jake by the forearm, peering over at the damage done by the stone.

"Is it bad...?" Jake inquires, wincing a little as Dirk's fingers gingerly pull back the hair to get a better look.

"Not really. It _is_ bleeding though." Shrugging at him, Dirk lowers his hands and peers out ahead of them. "Your house isn't far from here."

Jake nods in understanding of Dirk's implication, wiping the blood from his own hand onto his sleeve. Who could have done such a thing? Okay, so they gave up on being straight today, but is that truly enough reason for somebody to stone him, if even only with a single rock?

Actually, perhaps it is. The idea prompts a bitter groan. "Nah, I'm fine. We can go back to my place, but don't fix up the wound."

Dirk's eyes meet his with temporary incredulity. "What?"

"Keep walking. Don't give them the benefit of knowing they got to us. Besides, I've faced great beasts out the wazoo. A little head injury is nothing."

Without another word, Jake takes the initiative to pick up the pace a little, kicking the rock across the pavement and watching it catch on the trunk of a tree. Somewhere beside him, Dirk strides quicker than before, though trails minimally behind for one reason or another.

After a few minutes, they approach the house in an awkward near-silence, broken only by the sound of shoes stomping down against the pavement. Whatever elation they felt earlier has since dissipated completely; funny, what a simple stone can do to a guy.

This rock thing seems to be a common theme with him. 

Withdrawing his keys from his pocket, Jake unlocks the front door and steps inside, leaving just enough room for Dirk to follow him in. Kicking off his shoes, he removes his hat and coat; gingerly, his fingers lift to the painful bump on the back of his skull. The bleeding has slowed to almost nothing, which is good, though the reminder shall remain for a number of days.  He might also have a scar there now, which could make his hair grow in quite the wonky manner...

... What are these thoughts? Absurd? Perhaps he has finally settled back into his normal state of mind.

"Hey." Dirk's fingers meet his own behind his head, gently lifting Jake's hand from his hair. "Hands off. You'll make it worse."

"Hm. Are you telling me I'm incapable?" He means it jokingly, yet Jake's tone betrays his intentions. Wordlessly, he attempts to tug his hand from Dirk's vice grip, though the blonde holds his fingers steadfastly in his own. "Let go, mate. I'm tired."

"That's a shitload of crap, Jake."

Oh, how he wishes at times that the Strider did not know him inside out...! Shaking his head, he finally wrenches away from Dirk's grasp, peering up at the other man with a defeated expression. "... I don't know what to do anymore... I really don't, old chap." His pitch quiets; his eyes dart to the floor as a stiffness takes hold of his chest. "I can't take much more of this hogwash..."

Dirk stares back at him, utterly silent as Jake lets his thoughts spill loose; upon his final mutter, Dirk still does not speak, does not turn. Instead, he steps forward, a single stride, and lifts his thin, trembling arms to ensnare Jake into his grip once more.

The latter's breath catches as the Strider's body is pulled to his own. Now is not the time to be frail, to be deflated in any way, and yet, in his briefest moments of weakness... Dirk is there. Dirk is _always_ there, warm and protective and ironic... Far from perfect, but all he will ever need in this lifetime--no, for an eternity. His own shield from insanity.

Swallowing down the hard lump in his throat, Jake turns his head a little to seal Dirk's lips with his own, skipping the formalities and instantly prying at the other's mouth with his tongue. Despite his mild surprise, Dirk complies and parts his lips, grabbing two fistfulls of Jake's shirt in his fingers and pulling them flush against one another. A throaty whine slips through Jake's mouth as his legs wobble beneath him; his hands claw gently, clumsily at Dirk's shirt, his hair, his skin... Never is there enough contact, enough taste...

Breaking off briefly for air, Jake peers dazedly, sadly, at the other man, gripping tighter the collar within his fingers. "Dirk, by jove, I--"

"Sh." Without another word, Dirk jerks his head down the hall, and, with a quick exchange of nods, leads Jake into the bedroom.

The door shuts with a _click_ behind them.

~*~*~*~

They make love for the second time, raw and melancholic and perhaps everything which the first time was not.  Sweat and breath pass fleetingly between their heated bodies, utterances of wanton craving ripping free from their throats. Bitter--emotional. 

And as Dirk's back arches up to meet Jake's erratic thrusts once more, the adventurer, sobered and hot and unquenched, feels a pulse behind his eyes as orgasm ripples through his body; little streams fill the brims of his eyelids and pour in small rivulets down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/feedback appreciated. :)


	26. Chapter 26

May 20th, 1951.

He can hardly believe the day is finally upon them.

Stretching his legs out beneath the covers, Jake releases a large, gaping yawn, blinking the sleep groggily from sticky jade eyes. His vision remains but a blur, as his glasses sit cozily atop the nightstand; all the same, he can feel Dirk's warm, naked form shifting sleepily beside him. Subconsciously, he scoots nearer his lover, pressing his forehead to the other's back, which, thankfully, is not moist with sweat like it was a week ago. The previous night returns to his mind in brief flashes, vague and selective, but enough to make him redden a bit.

He can't believe he actually began tearing up last night. Of all humiliating, girly things... What grown man starts that dadblasted crying while having sex? It wasn't his first time, it didn't hurt... Why, he hasn't fully cried in the longest time, let alone in front of one of his closest companions. Thankfully, Dirk did not mock him for it afterward, but he fell asleep immediately after, so...

All the same, he can see this being something he'll be teased for in years to come.

What had prompted such action?, he must wonder. This time, their lovemaking had been completely different--raw, emotional... Considerably louder as well. More desperate than the first time, anyway; Jake can still feel the little marks in his back where Dirk's nails had dug in for leverage. For one reason or another, it had been rougher, clumsier than their first time. An entirely different sort of desire.

Making a face, he turns over on the mattress and reaches over to the bedside table, groping near-blindly for his spectacles and almost knocking them onto the floor in the process. Curse heretics for giving him such poor eyesight...! Taking one of the frames in his fingers, he lifts his glasses from the table and brings them to his face, sliding them carefully up his nose and peering accordingly over to the clock.  

8:06 a.m.

They best be leaving soon.

Yawning once more into his palm, Jake glances sidelong at his sleeping boyfriend, giving a snorty giggle at the way Dirk's hair sticks every which way. Normally, the Strider washes off the product just before bed to the best of his ability. Unfortunately, he had fallen asleep almost immediately after intercourse, and thus had completely forgotten (or ignored) the fact that his hair would look so ridiculous.

As he shimmies to the edge of the mattress, Jake takes care to avoid making the bed move too much, slipping stealthily from the covers and into a proper sitting position. Oh, yes, all of those years of hunting alert creatures have certainly prepared him well. He lifts himself from the mattress at last and throws on a casual outfit, grabbing a simple pair of shorts and a green shirt from his (slightly disarrayed) suitcase.

While adjusting the shirt atop his shoulders, his eyes drift idly back toward the few suitcases piled up in the corner of the room; two are his, one is Dirk's. A low, thoughtful sigh slips from his mouth, blowing out through his overbite in a way that almost makes a whistly kind of sound. It's sort of curious, how they've come this far from their peculiar beginnings; once thrown off by each other's mannerisms, and now running away to live a life of free love together.

It truly is strange, the way fate works sometimes.

The thought redirects his attention toward the snoozing blonde upon his bed, curled up and dreaming peacefully beneath the worn off-white sheets. Although they never discussed what time they would leave today, maybe it would be best to awaken Dirk sooner than later. After all, the Strider might need a quick bath or meal or something of that sort beforehand, and leaving earlier in the day is better for avoiding traffic.

Pursing his lips, Jake maneuvers around the suitcases and steps carefully toward the mattress, eyeing Dirk's face as it twitches slightly from the depths of erratic dreaming. He's such a dapper fellow, really.  Smiling gently to himself, Jake reaches out and jabs Dirk's forehead a few times with his forefinger. "Hey, you great bludger, time to greet the sun."

After a few consecutive prods, one of Dirk's brilliant orange irises peers open, tiredly glaring up at Jake's all-too-chipper face. "Tell the sun to come the fuck back later..."

"But it's Saturday, Dirk!" The urgent elation in Jake's vice is, thankfully, quieted down a bit to match the silent, echoing tone of the room. "We need to beat it ASAP and proper."

"Yeah, well--" Dirk shifts a bit, turning onto his stomach and giving a small wince. "--my ass hurts and I'm behind on sleep, so you're going to have to hold your horses for a while."

The phrase makes Jake roll his eyes. Dirk and his horses, honestly...

... Wait, his ass?

"Huh? You mean, last night...?" Jake swallows nervously, fidgeting a little in place. It makes sense, he supposes, for Dirk's lower back to hurt after their attempted shenanigans. But... Well, the thought never really crossed his mind until just now. Whoops. "W-Well, you left one bonzer of a mark on my neck."

The look to pass on Dirk's face afterwards lets Jake know plenty clearly that such pain/embarrassment is hardly equivalent. His eyelids fall shut once more. "Give me another hour."

"Err... Sorry?" Jake finds himself at a strange loss for words. Sorry for what, exactly? For breaking his boyfriend? For crying during sex like a sissy teenage virgin? Okay, so it was only his second time, but that's beside the point. "I'll pack us up some grub for the trip."

"PB & J." His voice is greatly muffled by the pillow smushed up against his face.

Narrowing his eyes, Jake shakes his head and lightly flicks the Strider in the back of the head. "Dirk, I have a peanut allergy. There isn't any peanut butter in this house."

"I don't care then. Whatever is fine."

Oh, for heaven's sake. This man is truly the epitome of all things that drive Jake positively batty.

How did they come to romance again?

Prodding Dirk's skull one last time, Jake turns to leave the room, trying to get a good idea of his inventory. Because of their impending trip, he has made an effort to avoid buying any new foods from the grocer's as of late, thus leaving him with very little in the pantry for making sandwiches. Thankfully, he has a full loaf of bread, and if nothing else they can snack on that. He doesn't expect the trip to take more than a day or so, but he, himself, isn't driving. Besides, he's never left the state and driven any great distance in these past years of state-living.

Oh, but now he's rambling again. Shaking his head with a small grin, Jake shuffles down the hall and into the kitchen, moving with a refreshed rhythm in his gait. Last night's emotional breakdown seems to have helped improve his mood significantly, though the melancholic undertones still linger.

Deftly picking up a knife, he slices the bread up a few times, grimacing at how uneven each slice is to its match. Dirk will surely have his head for this... Biting his lip, Jake takes special care in trying to match the shape more accurately, setting one slice atop the other and cutting clumsily around the perimeter to even them out a bit. Crumbles and tidbits of bread sprinkle the countertop beneath him and litter his hands with little brown specs.

Well, it won't be a pretty sandwich, that much is certain.

Somewhere in the back of the house, the bathroom door clicks shut, and the noisy rush of water sounds beside him as it runs roughly through the pipes. "Must be spiffying up..." Jake mumbles to himself, peering back behind him, down the hall for a moment. He sees very little need for the Strider to clean up; they'll be in the car all day, for one thing, and therefore the need to look dapper is nearly nonexistent. Besides, he thinks, he sort of likes the state of disarray that Dirk seems to retain after sex.

... Will they share a bed on the island? As Jake cuts up some mozerella cheese, the thought comes drifting to the forefront of his mind. He certainly wouldn't mind waking up to Dirk's bitterly tired face every morning, even if the Strider has a tendancy to be somewhat of a bastard in the wee hours. But at the same time, he himself has a tendancy to move around a lot in his sleep, so perhaps their irking qualities sort of balance each other out. That, or the entire reason Dirk is so grumpy in the morning is because of this little fact.

... He's never considered that before... 

... Oops.

"Well, it's not like I can help it." Shrugging his shoulders (oh, how he hopes that this habit isn't catching on...), Jake places the cheese onto the bread slices, making a face at how pathetically plain the finished sandwich is. Unfortunately, cheese is the only plausible thing in his kitchen to put on a sandwich... Then again, with Dirk's strange tastes, he can probably scrounge up something if he has such a problem with Jake's meager little sandwiches.

The sound of footsteps on the approach makes him grimace. Speak of the devil. "Top o' the morning, lazyarse."

A frowning Dirk Strider peers around the corner, trudging tiredly into the kitchen and dragging his feet a little as he walks. His hair has, much to Jake's dismay, been wetted and slicked back in one way or another (perhaps Dirk carries hair product with him? Who knows?...). He has dressed himself in his clothes from yesterday, for they thankfully remained clean throughout their strife. His sunglasses are, strangely, nowhere to be found, though Jake suspects that he will put them on a bit later, after the sun has come out a little more.

"Thought you needed an hour?" Jake speaks again, smirk widening at Dirk's unamused expression. "That was ten minutes, at best." 

To this, Dirk hasn't anything to say, and instead approaches the pantry door with a bit of a limp; Jake can't help but wince at the idea that his lover's awkward gait is pretty much all his fault. "Um... Will it always hurt you like that?"

"Nope." Dirk's voice remains nonchalant and cool as always as he withdraws a few crackers from the top shelf. "Sometimes it'll hurt you."

Jake pales at the implication. Dirk informed him once that couples of their sort often switch out positions at random, which means that, at some point, he will be on the receiving end. He can't decide if that's a horror or a complete and utter turn-on. Probably some sick inner combination of both. 

Lips quirking, Dirk sets the crackers onto the countertop next to the bread. "Put these on my sandwich." Saltines? Well, Jake can't say he's all that surprised. This is Dirk, after all. "What time did you want to leave?"

Placing a few crackers onto the bread slice, Jake sets the sandwiches aside and turns toward Dirk at last.

"As soon as you're rarin', mate."

~*~*~*~

"I can't believe I'm leaving..." Jake mutters, shaking his head at his own skepticism. He stands before the minimally ajar door, bags dangling from his fingers as he peers down the hall in wait. The leather chafes at his hands; he subconsciously grips the handle tighter. Carefully, sadly, his eyes take in the living area one last time. Most of the furniture is going to be left behind, so they can return if they ever so desire. Jane and Roxy both promised to look after it every now and then, if only to make sure some hooligan hasn't broken in and made residence.

They're leaving all of this behind... This is really happening.

Swallowing, he leans back against the doorframe, gaze darting about the room in one final attempt to memorize every last inkling of his soon-to-be-former abode. The worn-down old sofa, the ceiling in the kitchen which leaks in extreme rain, the coatrack upon which his Homburg always rested... It's so strange to fathom living anywhere else--not at all unwelcome, by any means, but near-foreign all the same. Even though he lived the majority of his life on the island, all of who he is now, as a grown man, has rested within this quaint little pumpkin house. He only hopes he can properly adapt to the wild life once again, for truly, what other options have they at this point? Staying here is out of the question, especially with their secret spilling out to public ears. Even if their paradise proves everything but, there is always the possibility of moving somewhere entirely different, or traveling the world. The possibilities are endless, and there exists no other being with whom he would rather venture blindly alongside than Dirk Strider.

Said man finally rounds the corner and appears from the hall, dragging a rather weighty-looking suitcase behind him and wincing a little every time the defective wheel jolts his arm. Regardless of such discomforts, the look on his face, shown through eager motions and flushed cheeks, betrays his elation--at least, this is what Jake sees it as. It's either that or bubbling fear, or perhaps a swirl of both. Unfortunately, Dirk wears his pointy shades once again, thus shielding his innermost emotions from his lover's eyes.

"... Raring to go?" Jake chances a smile--small, uncertain--and reaches behind him for the handle. Jiggling it a few times with quivering fingers, he manages to twist it all the way and pushes the door open, not once turning his front away from the expanse of interior laid out before him.

It's surprisingly hard to leave all of this behind. All of the memories... Of Jane and Dirk and Roxy and himself... Of his grandmother... Turning away is much...

A fleeting touch breaks his trance; Dirk's hand curls reassuringly around his wrist. Jake's eyes tear away from the hall and over toward Dirk; irises of jade flit along his lover's face--searching, questioning...

He finds his answer, and as such twists his hand upward to weave their fingers together. His hesitant smile broadens, brightens, into a large, eager grin, though faint regret and anticipation curdle in his stomach, in his eyes...

Yet, so long as this man is by his side, forever shall he stride forward, whatever the circumstances, whatever their paths may entail.

Steadfastly holding the other's gaze, he turns, at last, toward the outside world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I think I got ten kudos this time around. Which means, potentially, ten new readers. Welcome. :3
> 
> Anywho, thanks for the commentary, as always. We only have a few chapters left, guys.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things to mention real quick.
> 
> 1.) IF YOU HATE SEMI-SPOILERS, DON'T READ THIS. Anyway, Regarding the ending of this fanfiction... While I can guarantee you happiness, I also guarantee sadness. It will be a VERY mixed ending. If you dislike sad endings, you may not want to read any further, thus why I made the past chapter sort of conclusive and open. You've been warned.ENDSPOILER  
> 2.) I believe my ask box on tumblr is accessible now. Feel free to send me anything. :)  
> 3.) Thanks for the feedback and for taking time to read this at all. To use a Texanism, y'all are great. ^_^

The drive begins, more or less, with nary a single setback. Dirk drives as effortlessly as always (a feat that Jake cannot help but envy), swerving only once when a rather inexperienced driver tries to pass them in the opposite lane.  All in all, the ride is relatively smooth, save for that moment, as well as a brief period in time where Dirk's nose begins bleeding a little.  Somehow, the Strider manages to drive on, either ignorant to the fact that blood drips profusely from his nose or completely nonchalant about it.

It isn't until they have been on the road for a half-hour or so that Jake realizes a dire error on his part.

"Drat!" Slapping a hand to his forehead, Jake flops back a bit against the thick leather seat; a low sigh crawls in rasp through his throat.

"Hm?" One of Dirk's eyebrows rises, thin and straw-hued, above a dark triangular lens. His gaze does not stray from the road ahead, though his attention starts to drift toward his distressed lover. "What's up?"

"Jane and Roxy..." His voice strains as a small groan follows behind his prior sigh. "We didn't say one last cheerio to the gals, did we?"

Nodding slowly, Dirk appears to fixate his attention onto the road once again, gripping the wheel a little tighter in his fingers for a moment. "Not really, no. But I left a note, and it's not like we're never coming back."

Despite Dirk's reassuring intentions, Jake cannot shake the feeling of regret bubbling in his stomach. It would have been nice, getting to see those two again, one last time... Oh, if only they had more time, he muses glumly. He already longs for Roxy's drunken giggling, Jane's endearing voice... If only they had agreed to come along. As much as he loves the idea of returning to the island, it's a bitter sort of happiness--joy at a grave price. Who knows? Had their love not been unearthed and ridiculed, perhaps the four could have settled an agreement for living and visitation plans. Anything to that degree. 

They simply hadn't enough time.

"... Jane's not going to be happy..." Jake mutters after a while, giving a faint, uneasy chuckle. "Next time we visit, she'll have my head."

Dirk snorts out a short laugh at that proposition. "Yours and mine both, man. We're in for it this time."

"Well..." A mischievous glance flickers across Jake's face. "Maybe we could convince her to only behead one of us. I mean, you're the one who left the note."

The corner of Dirk's lips twitches upward, though soon returns to its stoic flatness. "You don't want that. A headless boyfriend? Seriously, ever made out with a severed head? Sounds damn freaky to me."

Neither utters much of anything until Jake begins a throaty guffaw, laughing at the ridiculous turn their conversation has taken. Dirk smirks in return, not giggling to the extent which his boyfriend is, but Jake can see the way his chest caves and rises with calm laughter, and it only makes his subtly all the more endearing. Chuckling one last time, the adventurer leans over and plants a firm, brief kiss to the other man's temple; his hand rests on the opposite side of Dirk's cranium, fingers entangling in blonde locks to keep himself from falling over. "Touche. Kissing anything dead is just sort of putrid."

For a moment, Dirk remains silent, refocusing his attention on the road as he tries to pass another vehicle. He is successful in his attempt; his knuckles fasten whitely still to the steering wheel. "Yeah, guess so..."

Apart from the occasional exclamation of new sightings from Jake, the next hour or so of driving is relatively quiet--pregnantly so or not, he isn't certain. Most silence is less than favorable in Jake's eyes, but his vision has always been a bit blurry. Regardless, very little is spoken, motioned, implied... Jake almost feels, admittedly, isolated, as if Dirk is simply ignoring him or giving him the cold shoulder. Surely this is not the case? He has misinterpreted the man's intentions before, but... Has he said or done anything to invoke a feeling of malice from the blonde?If so, it was entirely unintentional, and Dirk should know it. Perhaps this isn't the case at all. Oftentimes, something seems to be eating away at the Strider's inner being, though anytime Jake brings it up, Dirk never fails to wave it off as if it were as dismal as a hunger pain. He sometimes wishes nothing more than to pry into Dirk's subconscious, to discover how that complex brain works; but, alas, such desires are precisely not possible.

"Jake?"

At last, Dirk's twangy voice graces his ears, shaking him violently from his own troubled thoughts. Grinning crookedly, Jake shifts on his bottom to sit upright, casually tapping his itchy fingers against the fine leather of the Ambassador. "Yeah, mate?"

"You always mention having adventures on the island when you were young." As the Strider peers out ahead at the road, Jake can see his eyes at last, made visible by his profile due to the thinness of the sunglasses; Dirk's orange eyes grow distant behind his shades. "So what is that all about?"

... His adventures?

Is this the source of Dirk's silence--of his deepest crevices of thought? It seems so plain and simple to him, the idea of adventuring. Has he merely never explained what exactly his adventures entailed? Perhaps there is something more than just "adventuring" which Dirk is attempting to unearth; and yet, Jake being Jake, he sees only the surface of the inquiry, and answers with a passionate smirk and a pleasant, reminiscent tone. 

"Well, Dirk, can't fib, they varied by the day." He leans back in his seat, loosening his posture and peering cheerily over at his boyfriend. "But by golly, they were wicked. And they were always unexpected--that's the grandest part! You could venture out to forage and find yourself stumbling into a tomb, or fending off some down-on-his-luck dodgy critter... It's _great_."

A ghost of a smile sneaks its way onto Dirk's lips, though his eyes dare not leave the rural road ahead of him. "Nice. Anything's better than suburbia." Another look passes across his face, indecipherable by Jake, yet there and lingering all the same. It portrays a number of things--bliss, regret, fright... As if Dirk's every last emotion, every last fiber, beckons to reveal itself on the blonde's typically stoic face. It's beautiful. It's unsettling.

In short, it's Dirk.

"... Got that right." Finally, Jake rediscovers his ability to speak coherently. "No more social norms, no more restrictions... I _reckon_ this thing we have will be superb."

... Did he just use the term "reckon" with _slow southern drawl_? These seem to be a recurring thing for him as of late--these Texanisms. Perhaps Dirk has impacted his life more profoundly than he previously thought.  What is he saying? Of course Dirk has impacted his life. Why, the man is one of the main reasons he decided to leave Houston after all of these years!

And the unfortunate minute such drawl slips from his mouth, Jake notices a smug smirk tugging at his lover's lips. "Oh, come off it, you twat; it's not _that_ gutbusting."

"Hey, cool it, Jake. This gut ain't busted." The cattish grin, however, does not diminish in the slightest.

Rolling his eyes, Jake nudges Dirk in the side with his shoulder and casually tucks his hands behind his head, clasping the fingers together and resting back into the cushion they form. A contented sigh slides out through buck teeth, prompting a serene smile to grow upon his face. "How long does this drive usually take?"

"It all depends." Jake's eyes snap open as the car takes a sudden turn. "Have you been listening to the news recently?"

One of Jake's dark, thick brows lifts above the frame of his glasses. "A little. Why?"

"We're in drought, especially out west. Might need to take detours if there's a road damaged or a wildfire or something. You wouldn't believe the shit that goes down out here."

"Hmm... Alright." Nodding his head, Jake allows his eyelids to drift downward once more over weary eyes. "In that case, wake me when we sto--"

"How's your head?"

The inquiry spews forth off of Dirk's tongue in a snapping sort of way, jumbled and loud and uncomfortable. He means it in casual conversation, Jake ascertains, but... Well, it definitely does not come out thusly. He had mostly forgotten about his rock-to-the-head, drowned and consumed by the previous night's exchange. As if responsively, the bruised, raised bump on his skull throbs sharply in reminder beneath his clasped hands. "... My head? It's doing swell. Swell enough, anyway. More like "decently dapper", I suppose... You get the idea."

To this, Dirk gives no verbal response, though the smirk has since left his lips to tug downward. Talk of such unpleasant parts of their past, however recent, always seems to bother the Strider to an extent. In times such as these, Jake must wonder if his response is truly nothing more than his deep affections. "Hey, Dirk? Everything alright, chap?"

The sound of the other's voice appears to snap Dirk from his reverie for a moment, enough to make his head jolt upward and his eyes focus themselves upon the car a little distance in front of them. He hesitates, if only slightly, though it feels nigh eternal to the adventurer. "... Just kind of out of it today. Don't worry about me."

"Well of course I'm gonna worry. You can't babble malarkey and fret over me and not expect me to do the same." He shifts over in his seat a little, though does not move any nearer to the blonde in case of backfire. "I mean, cripes, Dirk, who do you take me for?"

Stilled quiet settles in once more, and Jake almost wishes he had left that last part out. Now is not the time to bicker, after all. This is their escape--sort of like an indefinite honeymoon, sans marriage. It should be peaceful, loving.. The prospect of marriage still tugs at Jake's insides and _oh_ , how he wishes to make such a commitment. Why, he saw this movie once where the main character had a simple wedding, with nothing more than--

... Movie?

... He hasn't thought about that before... Prior to his arrival to the states, he had never viewed any of those fabulous moving pictures. But, now... life without movies sounds absolutely terrible. "Any chance we could create a theater at the island, once we've settled in and all that?"

"A theater?" Dirk ponders this for a moment. "I mean, probably. We'd have to fly the movies in though."

"Oh..." Jake's voice grows mildly deflated. "Bet that's wicked expensive, eh?"

"It's not cheap, no. But we can make it happen." The car slows to a stop at a traffic light as Dirk finally peers over in Jake's direction.  "We _will_ make it happen."

""We"? Hah, gee, Dirk, I know _you're_ rolling in dough, but I'm bloody broke." Despite the reality in his words, Jake wears a small grin, revealing his joking intentions. He means no malice toward the Strider, and it is not his place to ask for money. He has made do plenty well these past few years, and shall continue to do so, wherever their lives may take them.

"Jake... come on, dude. What's mine is yours now." Lightly rolling his eyes at the other man, Dirk takes Jake's hand lazily in his own and quickly presses his lips to the back of the adventurer's scarred knuckles, allowing his mouth to linger briefly as he contemplates something or other; Jake cannot determine his thoughts, of course, but the ever-familiar look of processing remains beneath the layer of freckles.

"... Dirk?"

The other man daren't give any verbal response, lips dry and pursed and still pressed firmly to Jake's hand.  His troubled orange eyes narrow lightly; a frown tugs insistently at the corners of his mouth. When at last he speaks, such utterances seem forced off of the back of his tongue, heavy and dripping with morose. "Nothing..." A small sigh slips past his lips, fluttering cooly across Jake's knuckles; he shudders involuntarily at the rush of breath. "... I love you, Jake. You know that... right?"

"... Well, yeah..." Jake lifts an eyebrow curiously. "What sort of question is that? I mean, if you didn't, would you be willing to leave the country behind and venture out to the wilderness with another man?"

"... Touché." A small smile threatens his mouth, but Dirk restrains it as he reluctantly lets Jake's hand slither from his grasp.

"For what it's worth, I'm rather fond of you as well. If that wasn't painfully blatant, that is." Jake finds himself giving a sheepish grin. "You've got nothing to worry about."

Dirk's eyes retrain themselves upon the expanse of road ahead. One final utterance, mumbled and not necessarily meant for Jake's ears, manages to pass from his throat before he catches himself short.

" _If only you knew._ "

The light turns green suddenly, and, as such, Black Beauty begins rolling forward once more on the western road.  


	28. Chapter 28

"We've been driving for a _really_ long time, Dirk..."Absently flipping a folded-up map in his fingers a few times, Jake English releases a tiny sigh, allowing his body to slump a bit further into the thick leather seat. "Are we going to pull over soon? I need a rest stop, pronto."

Despite the responsive snort that he rips out, Dirk nods his head once and changes lanes; Jake cannot help but be thankful for the lack of traffic on the road at the moment. Then again, when driving on deep country roads, perhaps traffic _does_ equate to a lack thereof. Oh, what is he thinking? All of this driving must be taking a toll on the poor adventurer's head.

"Yeah," Dirk answers at last, licking his lips once and gripping the wheel tighter. "There's a restaurant coming up on the right. But for the record, it hasn't been that long. We're still in Texas."

Jake finds himself peering over in utter disbelief. "Still in Texas? Poppycock!"

"Cool it. We'll hit New Mexico pretty soon." Despite his flat tone, the Strider reaches over to loosely ensnare Jake's curling fingers, brushing his thumb up along the rigid, tanned knuckles with a faint smile. Dirk has been a little more expressive as of late, Jake notes in the crevices of his mind; all the same, these facial gestures often seem a tad bit forced, and he can't help but inquire why such a drastic change has overcome the other man. His only suspicion, however oblivious or naive it might be, is that Dirk is trying to be more outward with him. Would the Strider change in such a way, all for him? It's a nice thought and all, but he doesn't want his lover to alter himself at all--why, he is plenty content with the Dirk Strider he fell in love with in the first place, and he hopes it shows.

Black Beauty crawls into the aforementioned restaurant’s parking lot, turning toward a space and nestling comfortably between two other vehicles. "Ah, at last!" Freeing his hand from Dirk's grasp, Jake all but throws the car door open, wincing as he stumbles somewhat clumsily out of the vehicle. "So..." A hearty exhale flits out from his lungs, and the thusly appropriate grin grows wider on his lips. "What sort of restaurant is this?"

"It's a bar." Dirk shuts the door behind him and leans forward, his full weight pressed up against the hood of the car for a moment as he peers across at his boyfriend. "Decent food, better alcohol. I stop here every time I visit my bro."

"You don't say? Huh." Two dark eyebrows lift gradually upward; a hand reaches up to readjust his hat, which had fallen askew during the ride. His eyes dart curiously to the building, looking it up and down a few times with a small breath. "Gosh, it sure is a _small_ joint, isn't it?"

"A little." The Strider simply shrugs his shoulders; his legs halt, and a husky cough rips forward from his chest shortly following the motion. A small bout of coughs and hacks tears through his slim body, racking his form forward and back and forward again in a whiplashing sort of motion; his hand gropes desperately at the door of the car, at last discovering leverage in the handle. Hunching over, he gives one final bout and, releasing his hold on the Ambassador, spits the gunk from his lungs into the grass beside the curb.

"Dirk...?" A concerned look passes over Jake's face; his lips quirk downward in a small frown, and the fret in his gaze remains plenty evident. "Egad... You okay? You really need to do something about those allergies. They'll bloody kill you, one of these days."

Much to Jake's astonishment, the other man actually seems to consider his words for a moment before responding, nonchalant as ever. "My allergies aren't _that_ bad."

 _That's a load of hogwash and you know it..._ Muttering incoherently under his breath, Jake turns away, beginning to walk away from the Ambassador and toward the little restaurant; he places his hat back atop his head in the process. Why does Dirk always have to be so laid back? It's nice and all--no, no. It _was_ nice. Before their secret was revealed. Before all of this overbearing stress, this hopelessness... But now? Does indifference truly serve a greater purpose than to calm himself down? --Jake must wonder, at times... Well, to an extent. Too much thought of that degree is simply uncomfortable.

Ramble. Ramble.

Shaking his head at his own peculiar thoughts, Jake crosses the roadway and approaches the door, reaching out for the handle and pulling it open; Dirk trails closely, protectively, behind. The interior is relatively simple, though a little cramped due to the lack of space. The atmosphere is calm, warm; checkered tiles clack beneath Jake's shoes. Faintly, a jukebox hums and howls to the tune of "If I Didn't Care" by The Ink Spots; a man in the corner rises to change the song shortly after the music begins playing. The entirety of the room reeks of tobacco smoke, and--surely enough, two folks, a couple, sit at the bar with cigarettes dangling loosely from their fingers. All in all, it is relatively vacant.

"... Well, the food's good, anyway." Patting Jake a few times on the shoulder, Dirk peers around and focuses in on one empty table, near the back of the restaurant. "Want anything to eat?"

"Oh, uh... A patty melt sounds pretty tasty. Thanks." Jake nods his head in return, exchanging fleeting smiles with the other man. It is best to avoid making a scene, he assumes, in case the people in this region are less tolerant of homosexuality than those back at home (which, as impossible as it may seem, is indeed plausible). Nearly tripping over an extended chair, Jake turns his attention away from Dirk's leering face and proceeds down the walkway, cheeks heated and lips quirking upward with mild embarrassment at his own clumsiness. Agile as he may be in the wild, floor tiles and attractive Striders remain steadfast foes of his.

He retreats into the restroom and, in time, finds himself wandering over toward the sinks. His hands delve into the running water, slipping absently along each other as his head lifts slightly upward; a pair of striking jade eyes meets his own in the mirror with exceptional fervor. Deft fingers cease their incessant scrubbing as they slowly lift, rivulets of water trickling along his calluses, down his fingertips and into the drain.

"What the devil...?" A dark eyebrow rises above the uppermost frame of his glasses, followed by the other shortly after. He screws up his face in a way that eases the task afoot; his hand darts up past his nose and digs into the frontmost, styled-up portion of his hair. Grasping at the ends, his fingers settle upon a single strand near the front, ashen gray and thusly contrasting the remainder sticking out from under his hat.

"I'm... graying?" It is but a single strand, fine and wispy and slicked up slightly with some of Dirk's leftover hair grease; yet, all the same, it strikes him with a sense of... Something. He truly knows not what exactly he is feeling--elderly, wise, proud, experienced, dashing... It's all so jumbled together that such certainty is naught short of impossible. "Holy smokes..."

Despite what many people often think about this change of hair color, he feels reluctant to pluck or conceal it. In fact, he daresay it makes him look like a more seasoned, sporting adventurer, like someone out of those movies he has grown so fond of. What could be more picture-worthy than a strapping youth, devilishly handsome and flashing an ashen-flecked hairdo? Nothing, that's what! Oh, he is certain that he sounds absolutely ridiculous right now, but such petty things hardly matter to an adventurer of _Jake Bloody English's_ caliber.

This whole concept of returning to his old homeland has definitely affected his mind. If possible, it seems to have brought out his inner child, which is perfectly understandable--why, he _was_ young enough when he and his grandma moved. The promise of seeking new treasures, exploring new tombs, and hanging with his new lover are, combined, enough to send a sharp desire tingling along his spine and down like electricity through to his fingertips.

Speaking of his "new lover", Dirk must surely be waiting for him. Shooting himself one last wink in the mirror, he turns toward the tall wooden door and tugs it casually open; his feet tap against the floor a little as he enters the general dining area once again.

The clacking of shoes stops abruptly, replaced by the clacking of bone against fleshy bone, and it takes all of Jake's willpower not to yell in alarm. He knows all too well what that sound belongs to.

"--the hell?"

Jake's eyes fall reluctantly upon the scene playing out before him. A rather short man lies awkwardly on the checkered flooring, bald and enraged and sporting a fresh red splotch on his face, over his eye; the cloth of his high-folding green collar is bunched up and clenched in a pair of thin pale hands. Hunched over the man is his Strider familiar, expressing more irritation than Jake has ever seen on his face (it is still nothing more than a frown, but the stiff atmosphere speaks for itself).  


… What exactly has he missed in his absence?!  


“Dirk!” Finally retrieving his ability to speak, Jake stumbles toward the two brawling men, frantic to reach his boyfriend before any further violence can break out. Who knows where this fighting could lead, should they be left to their own judgments? Grabbing a fistful of Dirk’s polo in either hand, he tugs the blonde up and off of the other man, fastening his fingers together and looping his arms around Dirk’s body in attempt to still the Strider’s trembling bones. “What in the name of— _whoa, hey_ —!”  


Gruffly yanking himself away from Jake’s hold, Dirk whirls around, shades askew and eyes striking his own like a wild flaring ember; the adventurer holds the stare for about three seconds before Dirk finally settles enough to release the breath he’s been holding. His eyes dart now, from Jake to his smirking adversary and back again, as if trying to comprehend what to do from here on out. At last, his lips part, and after a number of staggered breaths, he manages a winded “let’s go, Jake” and turns numbly away.  


Jake, flabbergasted and rendered more or less speechless, trails closely behind the younger man, eyeing the back of Dirk’s styled straw hair in thought. What on earth could have prompted Dirk to violence—especially in a time like this, where keeping a low profile is of the utmost importance? Dirk’s always been a bit rough, but never to the extent of picking fights with random strangers, let alone at a bar. Things simply aren’t adding up, and Jake believes it is high time he gets to the bottom of things, once and for all.  


As he shuts the door behind them, the bald man gives a sneering laugh.  


“Wait a minute, chap! Dirk!”  


The handle hardly slips from Jake’s fingers before Dirk hurriedly strides over to the Ambassador, hands twitching at his sides; his knuckles glow red and inflamed from the impact of the punch. His eyes don’t bother to lift from his shoes; Jake winces as a car in the parking lot almost hits him and gives a resounding honk because of it. What is flowing through that befuddling brain of his…?  


Licking his fear-dried lips, Jake crosses the parking lot and pursues his partner with newly-awakened motivation. “Dirk.” He speaks again, trying to firm his voice a bit, though he fears it comes out more nasally than anything else. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he eyes the Strider’s form, leaning up against the hood of the car and hunched slightly; his sunglasses are back in place now, shielding Dirk’s expression from Jake’s prying gaze. “… Hey, mate… You okay?”  


He seems to consider this, hesitant at first and avoiding Jake’s eyes at all costs. Dirk’s Adam’s apple bobs once, twice, before his voice mutters quietly out from behind stiff, shaking lips. “… No.” He swallows again; Jake daresay the other man is on the verge of a mental breakdown, or tears… though the aspect of Dirk shedding tears seems all but impossible. “No. I’m not.”  


“… Dirk, what—?”  


“I’ll tell you tonight.” Dirk sniffs once, coughs twice, and thrice taps his index finger against Black Beauty’s hood, contemplating something or other; Jake cannot ascertain Dirk’s thoughts, after all. “So quit looking at me like that. You’re not that intimidating.” He chances a small smirk, though it soon diminishes with his voice as he trails off to another topic. “… Think you can take the wheel for a few hours?”  


… Hold on, _what_? After all of this, Dirk wants him to drive the Ambassador to Elko? Yes, Dirk has definitely lost his mind. That, or the other man is hiding more than Jake has previously conceived. Regardless… Oh gosh, he hasn’t been behind the wheel for a while. He hopes he can drive well enough, considering how cherished Dirk’s car seems to be to him. Oh, what a reprimand he would receive for so much as scratching Black Beauty’s fine metallic bumper…!  


“… Sure thing.” His voice trails a bit as well as he sits down in the driver’s seat, reluctant to tag on anything extra, but unwilling to let this strange occurrence slide like so many others have in their past together. “If you tell me why you left a shiner on that guy’s face.”  


Dirk responds with surprising compliance. “His name is Caliborn.”  


Caliborn… Where has he heard that name before? It sounds vaguely familiar, though he cannot quite put his finger on—  


Oh, wait, that’s it! “You mean that bloke you had a fling with during the war? He wound up _here_?”  


“Guess so.” Dirk shrugs, scooting into the passenger’s seat and leaning back comfortably as Jake puts the car into reverse. “He normally lives in Oklahoma, I think. Either way, we didn’t end on the best of terms. He’s kind of fucked in the head.”  


“… Oh.” That’s it? That’s the reason Dirk had lashed out at Baldy? Oh, and he had anticipated so much worse…! Relief floods over Jake as he pulls away from the restaurant lot. All that had been was a simple dispute among former lovers. He can hardly believe it. “So you punched his kisser because of your old ties?”  


“Nah.” Dirk shakes his head, leaning further back in relaxation as the vehicle begins to move more quickly.  


“Oh? Then, gosh, why did you hit him?”  


“He insulted you.”  


Those three words are enough to silence Jake for the majority of the next hour or so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm SOOOO sorry it took this long. I had this awful musculoskeletal inflammation thing, which made my arm and lungs hurt, and... yeah. Otherwise, this would have been up a long time ago.
> 
> Secondly, thanks to everyone who has stuck with me so far. I know these are pretty flawed chapters, and that as such they are made more difficult to read and comprehend than they ought to be, but I still appreciate it nonetheless. :)
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated. Feel free to drop me an ask too.


	29. Chapter 29

By the rising of summer moon, Dirk and Jake have crossed over into New Mexican territory.

“Hey, Dirk? Wake up, pal.” Jake reaches across the seat to prod at his lover’s forearm, which is covered by a spare blanket they had thrown in the trunk prior to departure. A small sigh flits through Jake’s nostrils; it’s the middle of May, and as such there is absolutely no reason that Dirk should need a blanket to sleep. Perhaps it’s simply one of those “comfort” things—like children who must share a bed with herds of stuffed animals to fall asleep. Dirk has never been especially clingy, the few times that they’ve shared a mattress, but he has always been a bit of a sheet-hog...

“Mrrgh…” Although the Strider faces away from him, Jake can distinctly hear the muffled groan that pushes out past his lips. Lifting his head slightly up, Dirk cranes his neck to peer at Jake from behind his shoulder; his sunglasses have since fallen to the floor in his snoozing state. A tiny frown plays at his lips and his flaxen eyebrows furrow slightly, scarcely noticeable against the pale white skin of his freckled forehead. “What?”

“I need more directions.” To further prove his point, Jake pulls over for a moment, steering to the side of the road and applying the parking brake. “It’s dark as all get out, and buggered if I know where I’m going.”

With a final sigh of exasperation, Dirk pulls himself up from the seat and gives a small yawn; the blanket cascades from his shoulders and down to his ankles, causing a tremor in his flesh. Little goose bumps rise along his skin as he rubs the sleep from his drowsy orange eyes; his fingers fall from his face and clutch at the map by his feet. “What’s the last street sign you saw?”

The last sign…? Well, it was rather dark, and his vision has never been astounding… Jake taps his chin in thought, screwing up his face in an animated sort of way and peering up absently at the black sky above. “Um… West on Helena, I think…? But that was almost an hour ago…”

The subsequent look on Dirk’s face says enough.

“… I made a blunder, didn’t I?”

"Yeah, you kind of screwed up.” Dirk chances a small inkling of a grin, though it soon fades as he finally acknowledges their surroundings. “What the hell…? What time is it?”

“Umm…” Jake’s gaze drifts down to his wristwatch. “Almost midnight.” Has so much time truly passed? Over twelve hours on the road, and yet… Somehow, Jake imagined being much closer to Elko after this much time in the car. It seems as though this vast journey shall never be over—that Elko-freaking-Nevada is stretched so far beyond the breadth of their fingertips, out of range by a whisper…

The next thing Jake knows, Dirk has unbuckled his seatbelt with a resounding _click_. Taking a few deep breaths, he suddenly throws the door open, staggering out of Black Beauty and falling onto his knees in the grass.

“Dirk! What the devil-fucking _dickens_ are you doing?" Turning the vehicle off, Jake pushes his own door open and turns to peer disbelievingly at his lover. "Have you gone mad?"

"Chill, Jake, I'm fine." Slowly beginning to stand at last, Dirk rolls his eyes with irate indifference and peers idly across the Ambassador at the other man. "My legs hurt from being crammed in the car for so long. That's all."

... Oh. Is that really all there is to it? Well. He certainly feels like a bit of an imbecile now. Eghhhh... "... Well, seriously, mate, you've gotta be more careful than that." Psh, who is he fooling? Dirk is not the type to exercise extreme caution--why, not any more than Jake, at least. This is simply the way things are; he and Dirk are ruffians, and shall always be wild at heart, regardless of where life should take them. Neither of them will go out without a fight, and thus it is that they must take risks at every given opportunity, whatever the costs.

To this, Dirk says nothing, though his eyes slip slowly toward the road out ahead. His gaze lingers beyond, moving only slightly to observe their surroundings and get a better idea of where they are. The stars above spackle the sky with shining white dust, illuminating the world below just enough that Jake can mostly make out Dirk's face beside him. Something is troubling the blonde, of this much Jake can discern, but what exactly it is that’s gotten under Dirk’s skin is well beyond his comprehension.

At last, the Strider speaks. “You know you drove us out to the Sacramentos, right?”

… He _what_ , exactly? He drove them out to the mountains? Oh, drat! They were supposed to avoid the mountain range altogether, not drive directly through it! “… Oh… Gee, sorry. But, really, I was only following _your_ directions.” A small smirk spreads across Jake’s lips; he knows not what has prompted such a strange, somewhat inappropriate expression, but at this point, perhaps it’s simply disbelief-induced mania. He’s been in the car for twelve hours and Dirk is driving him crazy—and now they end up in the mountains? It’s strangely hilarious. Gut-busting. “If you don’t want me straying, then try to stay awake next time we take a road trip, you dropkick.”

One of Dirk’s eyebrows rises again, though he does not reciprocate the smile; still he does not meet the other’s watchful stare. “Grab the blankets and the Cokes. We’re camping out for the night.”

“Camping? Out here?” Well, he certainly doesn’t expect such a suggestion from Dirk, of all people. It isn’t as if the man is pampered and unwilling to get dirty when necessary, but Jake has honestly never taken him for being the camping type. It’s not that Jake has a problem with that, of course—why, if he had his way, society itself would sleep outdoors far more often. “We don’t have a tent or a den or anything. What will we use as shelter?”

“I figured you could tell _me_.” Dirk shrugs in that manner of his, giving a short cough and placing a hand at his chest for a minute to steady himself. “Do we really need all that though? Not like there are a bunch of beasts out here or anything. Guess there could be some cougars. But that’s it.”

This is true… Between the two of them, they could probably take on anything that might pursue them in the dark. Still, Jake can’t help but wish it didn’t have to come to this. If only he had woken Dirk up before making the wrong turn… With a small sigh, he retreats toward the trunk and pops it up, pulling out the second blanket and a few bottles of soda from the back. “So are there no inns or anything like that around here?”

“Not that I know of.” Taking a cola from Jake’s hand, Dirk drinks a long swig before continuing. “All the map had were a bunch of roads and some Indian folktales. Besides, the nearest hotel I know of is almost an hour away, and I’m not driving anymore tonight. I feel like crap.”

“You _always_ feel like crap…” Jake takes a sip from his own bottle and begins walking away from the car, peering inattentively up at the few, scrawny trees patterning the hill beside the road. “I mean, bloody hell, Dirk. I think my grandma was in better health _on her deathbed_.”

Dirk trails closely behind Jake, eyeing the dead grass beneath their heavy-soled shoes that crunches and gives way with every trudging step; the stalks scratch against Jake’s ankles, itching and poking and brushing in opposition to the hair on his legs. A coyote yowls at a loss in the distance; the sound of chirring bugs drowns out the despairing cries of the bereaved creature. Peering up at the horizon once more, Dirk lowers himself to the ground in front of a young aspen, feeling around at a patch of grass that is not quite as brittle as the rest. “… Anyway, the grass isn’t as dry over here…”

Gradually nodding his head, Jake turns over toward Dirk and sits down beside him, shifting a little to find a bit more comfort in the prickly grass. While it isn’t as dry over here, it still doesn’t qualify as being particularly comfy. Ah, but he digresses… Comfort is for the weak, for the city folk, for those who have prompted them into this desolate wasteland in the first place. Oh, how he wishes to give those who opposed them a piece of his mind…! What is so wrong with two men loving one another? Sure, it’s unorthodox, and Jake himself would never have considered it prior to meeting Dirk, but that doesn’t mean—

“Jake?”

Dirk’s voice breaks his train of rambling thought for a moment, snapping him back to the reality in which they currently reside. It truly is a sad thing, Jake thinks, when a lack of human contact remains steadfastly better than contact with those who think ill of you. “Ah? Yeah, Dirk?”

The Strider’s lips part, as if to speak, though no sound penetrates—a soft breath, shaky and unsteady, passes through instead. An expression, oddly open for Dirk, drifts onto his face, and such a strange surge of emotion flits across his features that Jake almost believes for a moment that he is dreaming—terror and serenity, simultaneous… hauntingly so. At last, after so many minutes of avoiding the adventurer’s gaze, Dirk meets the eyes of his lover, weary and pleading and _God_ , it all but breaks Jake’s heart. Dirk is an absolute _mess_ , eyelids drooping a bit and chest rising and falling all too noticeably with each tremulous breath. Never has Jake considered seeing Dirk so exposed, so _vulnerable_ …

“… Dirk? Hey, old chap, is everything alright?” Scooting a bit closer, Jake sits his Coke aside and removes his hat, placing it atop the bottle and thus discarding everything that could possibly deter his attention from the task at hand. Dirk promised to let him in on whatever has been troubling the Strider as of late, but if Dirk is so susceptible right now, then there is absolutely no chance of him letting such petty desires get in the way of comforting his companion. “You look plumb awful.”

“I'm fi—“

“Don’t give me that.” Licking his dried lips, Jake’s gaze softens, saddens, as he reaches forward to take Dirk’s quivering hands in his own; they’re deathly icy to the touch—his tongue grows leaden behind a tense, pursed mouth. “Cripes, you’re cold…”

Subconsciously, Dirk tugs the blanket further up his body, though does not shy from Jake’s insistent touch; if anything, he curls up nearer, taking comfort in the presence of the warm human being beside him. “Yeah, no shit.”

“... It’s not just allergies... is it, Dirk?” The inquiry that has been eating away at him like a parasite has at last made itself evident upon his tongue; the words form before he can even comprehend their departure from his lips. Dirk’s gaze drifts downward to their woven fingers; he squeezes Jake’s hand tighter as a small cough erupts, dry and deep, from the crevices of his chest.

Clearing his throat, once, twice, he shakes his head in response to Jake’s inquiry, sinking a bit further down against the aspen. “Hell if I know, bro…”

Jake’s eyes narrow, and his brows tense and lower beneath the thick frames of his glasses. “What are you getting at?”

“Hell if I know,” Dirk repeats; a small frown begins to tug at his lips as his voice rises. “Hell if I know! Hell if _they_ know! They don’t know what’s wrong with me, _if_ there’s anything wrong with me… I could drop fucking _dead_ at any given moment...” As if on cue, another bout of wicked coughing belts out from his straining lungs; with every heave of his chest comes another loud bark, strained and gasping and painful, and on the final cough, a spurt of blood comes shooting from his throat and it flecks his covering fist with little scarlet spots. At last, his hacking comes to a steady halt, and he speaks again with a fresh rasp in his voice; his countenance is far calmer than before as he pacifies his aching lungs. "I've been to six different offices, Jake. They all say the same thing..." His voice trails a bit as another irritated cough threatens to surge through his chest, though he manages to bite it down and continue. "They say it's just asthma, or allergies, or some other BS like that... How stupid do they think I am? They're all lying through their teeth—they don't know what's wrong with me." He swallows. "Nobody does..."

So,

All of this time...

It's,

Subconsciously, Jake's hands clench tighter at the other's cold fingers. The placebo medication, the coughing... Everything is beginning to add up, and it makes him feel sick in the core of his stomach. Oh, if only he had been better at reading the signs...

But...

No, none of that matters now. He knows the truth; as much as it pains him, nothing more can be done.

Clearing his throat, Jake speaks at last, quiet and sober and careful. "Well... We'll have to take it slow at first. But after we're at the island for a while, we can play it by ear. Eventually, who knows? We could have a right hell of a time. You'll hardly even remember that you're sick." He's almost certain his meaning was lost in that bout of nervous babbling. But is it truly so odd that the newfound illness residing in his lover's body has perturbed him to the point of incoherence and desperate measures? With a trembling intake of breath, Jake closes the distance between their bodies and leans Dirk fully against his side now, craving physical contact—proof that his dearest friend is still alive, still at his side... He can feel Dirk's bony ribs jutting out from beneath pale, thinning flesh; what was once muscle has, in these past months, worn down to taut skin.

Beneath Jake's chin, Dirk shakes his head, slow and irate; his nose pushes further into the brunette's shoulder as another chilled shudder crawls along his spine, and a short cough rips through his body. Pulling the blanket up further, Dirk straightens up, probably to appear less needy. It doesn't seem to matter to the Strider that Jake is fully aware of how sickly he is, as long as it shows as little as possible on his face and in his gestures. "I don't think that's much of a possibility."

"What, you mean feeling better?"

"Well, _that_ , but..." A quaking sigh slips through Dirk's mouth; Jake can see his Adam's apple bob in a hard swallow. He continues speaking at last, though his voice has grown quiet, uncertain, as he slows his pace. "... I don't think I have much time left, to be honest..." He swallows again. "I mean, hell, I never expected to last _this_ long... I just..."

His voice trails to a stop, but so it is that the damage has been done.

Jake's lips part to speak, yet no sound comes out. A swelling pain settles in his throat as he struggles to fully comprehend what his companion has just revealed to him; it causes a raucous croaking in the undertones of his voice. "... Don't say that, you dope." Contrary to Dirk, Jake hastens and stumbles over himself while speaking, as if the other man will leave him for death before Jake gets it all out—the very thought makes him nauseous. "We've made it this far, haven't we? You'll be fine—perfectly well; get that through your noggin."

A pause. "... You know—"

"Dirk, damn it...!" Jake can't help it anymore; swears are pouring from his lips—whispered, forced, as speaking in itself grows near impossible. Tears gnaw at his lashes, threatening to spill over but bitten back by sheer English willpower. He won't cry in front of Dirk now—he _can't_ ; to do so would imply helplessness, and he downright refuses to place such guilt on Dirk's frail shoulders.

Frail. He never thought such a word could ever describe the man.

The sour feeling in his throat remains.

"Hey, man, relax…” Although Dirk’s eyes roll lightly at his lover’s reaction, a glossy film begins to build up in his eyes, glistening faintly against the bright reflection of the moon. A slender hand, quaking and feeble, lifts—slowly, tenderly, fleeting as a final kiss—to flit rough fingers across Jake’s cheek; they twitch in surprise at the wet residue lingering beneath those heavy black frames. “Relax…”

“Relax?” The touch of Dirk’s hand sends Jake over the edge, and with a final sworn utterance, the tears are set free, trickling and pooling and fogging his eyes to a blur. His voice is hoarse now—stammered, painfully candid, as all thought processes come crashing down. “Hah. Right, that’s… I’ll get right on that…” Blinking a stray tear from his eye, he slumps down to lay beside the blonde; he reaches up to carefully take the hand on his cheek into his own. “… How long do you have?”

“I don’t know.” A small sigh passes through Dirk’s parted mouth. “Don’t even know if I’m terminal at all…” It’s so strange, Jake thinks, to hear Dirk speak so casually of his own downfall. Why, he can hardly comprehend the idea in itself, let alone hear it on the other’s tongue without having a mental breakdown. “That’s why I told you to relax.”

This isn’t how things are supposed to be, regardless… They were to run away together, to spend years in paradise, away from the prying eyes of the public, comforted by the simple presence of the other—to grow old together, never to marry but always to love, to discover the other’s mind and body inside and out, and to die together of simple age, having lived perfectly fullfilled lives…

“Perfect”. There is the damned word—the word which has been mocking them from afar these many months. It’s precisely what he and Dirk could never be—as a homosexual couple, as flawed humans of this earth, as the peculiar men they have always been. Society desires perfection in sexuality, and they desire perfection in opportunity. And yet, here they lie, neither fully satiated with anything remotely reminiscent of the so-called “perfection” which they craved so. Their plans could work only in an ideal society, and as such, their failure was inevitable.

In short, they have been far too idealistic.

It’s devastating.

“Well,” Jake begins at last, snaking their fingers together. Slowly, he removes Dirk’s cold hand from his cheek and presses it to his lips, planting a firm, gentle kiss upon the back of his knuckles. The tears continue to flow, though have, for the time being, begun to dry up a little. “We’ll get you to paradise. Just you wait, Dirk. The island’s a beaut, I tell you.”

To this, the Strider gives a hesitant nod of the head, leaning his cheek against Jake’s shoulder and wincing as another strong, barking cough rips through his chest. It passes in time, as it always does, though the guttural sound of every hack makes Jake’s skin crawl. “Yeah, I guess. It’s still nothing but sand and some wild beasts."

A peculiar smile, sad but affectionate, spreads across Jake's flushed face. "What more did you expect?"

"I didn't expect more." Dirk shrugs; such a motion urges the moisture back into his eyes, though it does not yet fall freely. "I've already reached paradise anyway."

"... Oh?"

Dirk nods again before speaking; his voice has since grown raspier. "I'm out in the wilderness, chilling with you and avoiding society as a whole... Sounds like paradise to me."

Jake shakes his head incredulously, willing away the heat in his face, appreciating the mask provided by the dark. A soft sob racks his shoulders, though the tears have mostly dried and cemented to his face at this point; a few spare heaves still shake his body. "You're a right git, you know that?"

The latter says nothing and, with a final cough, lifts his free hand to curl in Jake's hair. "I'm sorry." It isn't often that Dirk openly apologizes for his mistakes, for his faults... It near breaks Jake's heart. Leaning forward, Dirk lifts his head at last from his boyfriend's shoulder, and it is with a final, vital tug of hair that he closes the gap between them.

Their lips meet, frenzied and desperate and everything their love has never been. There is no tongue, no lingering touch or fleeting thrust—pure innocence, desperation, need, as if this is the last chance they will have to taste the other against his mouth. It's a sloppy kiss, a wet one, neither coordinated enough in their state of emotion for a neat peck; a warm wetness brushes against Jake's cheek as Dirk misses his mouth, and it is in this moment that he first notices the streams that trail down the Strider's face.

Is Dirk crying?

His grip around the other man tightens subconsciously. Has Dirk ever openly cried in front of him...? It seems like such a strange thing, and yet...

Regardless, they have one hell of a journey ahead of them, whatever may entail these next few years, and of one thing Jake is certain: 'til death do they part, he is never letting the Strider go.

He falls fast asleep to the rhythm of Dirk's beating heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 30 is up, or will be VERY shortly. Continue reading on, or perhaps refresh the page to see if it's up yet...


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't read 29, go back and do that now, because I uploaded both at the same time.  
> And the epilogue is optional--if you want something happier, or just feel like it, read it.

Stretching his back out with a forward lean, Jake greets the morning sun with a broad, serene smile, buck teeth bared and protruding in that curious manner of his. As a small yawn slips out past such white teeth, he gropes around blindly for his spectacles, brushing his fingers along the frames and taking them in his hand.

What day is it? Friday? Yes, he believes this is correct... He really needs to start up a calendar sometime soon.

Huh. Friday...

It's been almost two weeks now since he and Dirk reached the island. Why, Jake can hardly believe it—two weeks seems like such a short span of time, and yet... It's been the longest twelve-or-so days of his life. But alas, such is the way that time passes, flitting on past, uncontrolled by any one man. Jake, himself, isn't entirely sure which he would prefer, between quickly or slowly passing time; either scenario is undesirable. Perhaps if time could be stopped altogether, frozen only briefly, but long enough to truly experience those moments that could last a lifetime, if given the chance.

But, unfortunately, such is not the way the world works.

Pushing his glasses fully up his nose, Jake turns toward the window and peers through at the morning sun. Looks like it's about ten o'clock.

Strider should be here soon.

Giving a sluggish groan, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and swings his legs over the side of the rickety old bed. It's a shame he hasn't had the chance to modify his old house; then again, he's pretty amazed that it's stayed up this long in the first place. What with the large creatures and the occasional raging storm, the house should never have lasted without a protective resident, let alone his old bed. Sure, it needs some refurbishing, but it's not all that different from the way he remembers it—the same creak on the right side, the same indiscernible odor... It's almost as if he never left.

No, he tells himself with a swift shake of the head; such a lie could never be true, for if he had never departed on that ship for America, he would never have moved to Houston. He would never have met Jane, or Roxy, or eventually Dirk.

He would never have fallen in love for the first and final time.

Making his way sleepily across the room, he pulls the woven door open and reaches for the coat rack to don his Homburg; his fingers stop, hesitate, and fall gradually back to his side. No, this isn’t one of those days. Dirk was never too fond of that old, worn-out hat… He would spare his Strider familiar this much today.

The sound of a voice, irked and swearing, resonates into Jake’s ears from downstairs.

“Coming!” he calls down, voice catching for a moment—he is not certain why, though the promise of what will likely ensue in these next hours probably has an influence on it. Now is not the time to falter, to show weakness in the eyes of another, especially one of Strider blood. His chest rises and caves with a deep, careful breath, and with a final brushing off of his deep green vest (which he had accidentally fallen asleep in last night), he begins to traverse the stairwell. Each slab of wood groans and creaks against his feet, which are bare for easier navigation through the wilderness; the cursing slows to a halt as he lowers himself into the first-floor kitchen.

A pair of shades greets him from the makeshift bar.

A pair of shades… pale skin, blonde hair…

… It’s sort of uncanny, how much they resemble each other…

“… Hey, man.”

The sound of Dave’s voice snaps Jake back into reality.

“Oh, er, sorry, old chap.” He chances an apologetic smile, though he fears it portrays his emotions in the form of a wince as the pain in his chest begins to well up again. Oh, what an open book he has become…! It’s pathetic—it was never meant to be this way… “Now, what is it you needed? I took a gander at the letter, but you weren’t especially clear…”

“It can wait…” A pregnant pause settles in between Dave and Jake; both men avoid eye contact, avoid any unnecessarily loud breaths or coughs or other such superfluous noises… Anything that could further spark the flames eating away at their innards. After a moment of silence, Jake lifts his eyes hesitantly, heavily, up at the younger man standing before him; Dave subconsciously licks his bright red lips a few times—they are, strangely enough, chapped brittle and crusted with blood. A nervous habit of lip-licking? It’s entirely possible… After all, Dirk had that blasted shoulder-shrugging quirk. Must be a Strider thing. At last, those ruby, inflamed lips part to speak, though his sunglasses remain turned entirely away from the direction of Jake’s face. “Don’t want impose or shit like that. I mean, I know this stuff is tough. Hell, you think I don’t? He’s _my_ bro…” A bitter snort erupts from within Dave’s tiny frame. It’s a bit funny, actually—or, it would be, given lighter circumstances—Dave is far smaller than Dirk had been in better health, those first few years of acquaintanceship. The younger man is thinner, shorter, and much less aged; while Dirk could manage faint stubble, Dave looks bare as a baby, and that leftover chub in his face only adds to his implied late puberty. Why, despite Dave’s twenty-one-or-so years, Jake feels almost as though he is in the company of an adolescent. “English?”

“… Yeah?” Caught in a daze again. This seems to be a recurring thing. It’s a little unnerving…

At last, Dave’s gaze trails cautiously upward, unusually timid for a man of Strider blood; from what little Dirk has told him about his brother, Dave is supposedly quite… What was the word Dirk had used? Feisty? Perhaps not quite that, but certainly not the shy type, in the slightest. “I want to see Dirk.”

“That’s right…” He had almost forgotten about that… Yes, it would be best to get this over with as quickly as possible. “I’ll take you to him; he’s not far.”

Nodding once, Jake jerks his head toward the back wall and maneuvers around the various piles of junk strewn and scattered across the flooring—he has yet to actually unpack and arrange everything just yet—to open the door. Peering around the area right outside, he tugs at Dave’s sleeve to imply that he must follow him, though proceed with silence, if he wishes to see his brother once more. The Strider nods after a moment of confusion and wears an expression which conveys his apparent disproval of the wild life which Jake has grown so fond of.

To each their own, Jake mentally retorts.

As he lifts a hand out ahead of them, the adventurer motions toward a section of the “backyard” that has been crudely fenced off with a few slabs of wood from a rotting log. “He’s just beyond those trees, not too far out… Still working on the fence, obviously.”

Dave simply nods once, saying nothing else; he strolls out ahead of his English companion to brush back the hanging limbs of the tropical trees veiling his dearest sibling from view. His hand clenches and unclenches above his head, still entangled in the stringy leaves of the tree, as his eyes settle in on Dirk at last.

For a moment, neither man says much of anything. Jake steps warily over to stand beside Dave, though not too close, to avoid hitting a nerve or ushering the Strider to his breaking point. Having never met Dave in person before today, he isn't sure how long the other man’s fuse is, and this would undoubtedly be an inappropriate time to test the waters. His own eyes, jade and solemn, fall upon the freshly-wetted grass beneath their feet, where a little green plantling of some sort begins to poke its head out from the earth.

And so it is that life goes on around them.

"... He knew he was going to die." Dave's voice, weary and quiet, shatters the impending silence. His tone is dark, voice trembling, catching and cracking every now and then as he fights the multitude of emotions swelling in his chest.

"... Yeah... I wager he did." Gradually, somberly, Jake nods his head. "The night before he died, he told me that he didn't have much time left..." His voice trails to a stop as his mind begins to wander and his heart catches in his throat. "I just didn't realize how short-lived that time would be..."

To this, Dave can only shake his head back and forth in dismay. "I think he always knew he would die young..."

Oddly enough, Jake can believe that, to an extent. Dirk was always so nonchalant about everything; at least, until they started seeing each other. The man had joined the military underage, for one thing; he also pursued a man's heart, completely disregarding the possibility of rejection or revelation of his forbidden sexuality. He had been fearless, careless...

"He accepted it, too." Dave's words mirror Jake's thoughts almost exactly. Licking his lips once, twice more, the blonde lifts a hand out in front of him, shaky and nervous, to place lightly against the cold rock of the gravestone. "Until he met you, anyway."

Those last words bring Jake back from his reverie.

What exactly is Dave trying to say? That Jake made the last few years of Dirk's life all the more _tragic_ because of their love? Perhaps it is mildly true, but he hardly believes that such revelations are necessary in a moment like this.

"So yeah. Thanks for that."

... Or perhaps he has simply misinterpreted the meaning behind the younger man's words. A look of incredulity passes over Jake's face, yet Dave's tone is neither sarcastic nor flippant. "Thanks for _what_ , exactly?"

“You gave bro something to live for.”

Something to…?

What does he mean by that? Has Jake inadvertently made Dirk’s last few years of life worth living by accepting a relationship with the man—a relationship that otherwise would never have happened in this world of disapproval and homophobia? Perhaps therein lays the reasoning for Dirk to withhold from Jake his opinions about his own health. Had Jake known about Dirk’s inevitable death, would their love have been different from the way it wound up being? There is always the possibility of Jake accepting Dirk’s affections for the sole purpose of bettering the Strider’s last few months of life; he may also have spent the last seven or so months with the mindset that Dirk is frail, or doomed, or something else of the sort.

Dirk would not have wanted that.

Suddenly, his mindset makes all too much sense…

“Seriously, dude.” Dave chances a smirk, though it comes across as a grimace; a faint hoarseness lingers in his voice as he speaks, revealing his innermost emotions as he struggles to bite them back. “You’re all he talked about when he was out visiting in Elko. It was annoying as fuck, but…” He pauses, gives a brief sniff, and removes his hand from the headstone. “Anyway, he left you a letter. It’s on the table in the kitchen when you want it. I don't know if he actually finished writing it..."

“A letter? Oh, uh, thanks. I’ll take a peek when we get back in the house.”

Dave nods—he licks his lips again—and the next thing Jake knows, he has a young Strider boy latching onto his arm for dear life, vice grip enclosing around his bicep. “Oye, Dave, have you gone—?”

“Not a word, English. Not one fucking word.” He makes no further motion, does not cry, does not speak, though continues to clutch Jake’s arm in his fingers, clenching and unclenching to the point of causing the latter mild pain. In response, Jake does not make any attempts to wring free from Dave’s hold, though it is, admittedly, a bit odd to have a grown man clinging onto him like a child.

But, then again, he _is_ a Strider—a member of a clan known for their odd ways and tight bonds.

Awkwardly, he places a comforting hand on Dave’s shoulder and gives it a single pat. Words are not exchanged, eye contact is not made, but the other’s presence is enough for them both. Dirk has left an imprint on their lives, and as such neither man shall live on the same; perhaps they can help one another fill the void—not as lovers or siblings, for such things can never be replaced, but simply as acquaintances in this time of grief.

And so it is, with naught more to say on the subject, that Jake English and Dave Strider retreat back into the house with nary another utterance upon leaden tongues.

 

_Jake English_  
#### Spice Drive  
Houston, TX ##### 

_April 13, 1951._

_Dear Jake,_

_Hey, man. Guess if you're reading this, then that probably means I've passed on. Yeah... Sorry about that._

_Anyway, there's a lot I need to say that I probably haven't already. Not really sure where to start._

_First off... Sorry if my death was sudden. Not sure if I’d have told you or not. If I didn’t, then—well, yeah, no excuses at this point. For what it’s worth, they didn’t know I was terminal anyway, so there was no telling when I could drop dead. I left you a third of my money though, if you didn't know that yet._

_Watch after Dave for me. There’s no telling what he’ll do when he finds out about me. He has a history of being a bit insecure in times like these. Bro’s still got a lot to learn._

_This letter sounds really insensitive, doesn’t it...?_

_So anyway… I really love you, you know. I wanted to run away with you, survive together, grow old, all that. I hope we at least got the chance to do the first two before I died. If not, then I guess my life really sucked, huh? No, it didn’t suck, as long as you were around, so… I’m not making much sense, am I? Damn._

_There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t know how to say it. As usual._

_God, I love you._

_Just you wait, Jake. One day, people like us won’t be ridiculed. We’ll become the freakin’ norm, and they’ll all look back on this and hang their heads in smoldering shame. We’ll show ‘em. I don’t know about you, but I have no regrets, and I can only hope that you don’t regret seeing me either. You gave me so much, and I repaid you with this._

_Sorry._

_Shit, I’ve said that too much…_

_I don't know what else to say..._

_Take care._

_I love you._

_I love you so much..._

_Dirk Strider_

 

~*~*~*~

**EPILOGUE**

~*~*~*~

Maple Valley, Washington.

Jake never thought he would wind up spending most of his time in the United States—not since the horror of Houston. And yet, here he stands, peering absently up at the cool Washington sky; it’s oddly clear out tonight as the luminous moon shines out from the heavens above. For the past five years or so, he has returned more and more frequently, perhaps out of desire to see Jane, who moved to Washington with a certain Lalonde shortly after he and Dirk left.

Well, and it _was_ five years ago that Roxy died.

That might have something to do with it.

Their little group has drifted apart, it seems—torn from one another by death or departure or some other miscellaneous form of leaving. Dirk and Roxy are long since deceased; Jane has moved to Washington, and Jake to his island (though they visit one another regularly); Dave, after a few years of creative struggle, finally managed to become a director or producer or something of that sort (Jake’s mind is a bit fuzzy, at times) and has since worked in Hollywood, working with some of the biggest names in cinema. Jake has met with the Strider on occasion to be introduced to a few modern stars, but his ties with the Strider have faded with old age; as Dave matured after his brother’s demise, he relied less on Jake and more on himself, and as such they have not interacted nearly as much as in their youth, after the death of the elder Strider.

Sixty-two years ago today, Dirk passed away in his arms.

Jake shakes his head incredulously. It seems like so long ago, yet so recent all the same. Times have changed; he has grown old, sporting ashen gray hair stop his head and a slightly darker, faded mustache upon his upper lip. Wrinkles pattern his face; the skin on the remainder of his body is loose and discolored. His bones rattle, his eyes and ears are faulty… He can still lift a gun, and live on his own, but his near-death experiences have come far more often as of late, and as such he has begun to take little breaks from the wild life back at home.

Yawning long and loud, Jake relinquishes his loose grip on the windowsill, giving a few steady breaths as a small head rush consumes his vision in a spotty purple haze. Oh, how he despises the disabilities that come with aging…! Shaking his head once, twice, he staggers over toward the couch, wincing every now and then at the toll that such a distance puts on his leg; he was mauled fifteen years ago by an angry beast, and he has since walked with a bit of a limp. Gradually lowering himself, he falls back on the sofa, giving a heavy sigh as he relaxes into the cushion. _Jane has been at the supermarket for an awful long time_ , he thinks as he carefully pulls his legs up on the couch with him; he leans himself back to rest his head tiredly against the armrest.

Or perhaps he has simply lost his perception of time as well.

How pathetic he has become… He wonders, at times, what Dirk or Roxy would think of this consuming weakness he has battled with for so many years now. Why, he’s eighty-seven years old! What man _wouldn’t_ be influenced in some way by his aging body? Despite the inevitable, he always imagined his older years being far more enjoyable—the reality is far from the movie ideal. Oh, so many movies he has seen in his lifetime—in vivid color, in high definition, in sound quality far beyond those which he grew up with… All with such splendid plots, characters, and visuals…

But they are still far from reality. He is no Bond, no Kowalski… Age has beaten this old boy, regardless of his struggle for the youthful exuberance he once boasted. Since age sixty-five or so, things have never been the same.

Things never _will_ be the same.

He curls up a little more on the couch, trying to get cozy to the best of his ability. A strange exhaustion has overcome him, and as such it is probably best that he fend it off with a quick nap.

Naps. Pah! He remembers a time when such things were hardly necessary. Now he takes at least once a day.

Age is truly a repulsive thing.

Shaking his head to and fro, he allows his eyelids to slip shut over glossy, visionless green eyes, hoping, if even only a little, that he will awaken to a better tomorrow.

~*~*~*~

__

_For the first time since the ripe age of eleven, his vision is perfectly clear._

_A dazed, tired confusion settles in as Jake rapidly urges the sleep from his eyes. He blinks again, and again, once more—in a sudden rush of uncertainty, he reaches up to remove his glasses, only to discover that his familiar specs are nowhere to be found. A dark brow rises above his eye as he sits himself upright, peering around in bewilderment at the clarity with which he views the room._

_Is this a dream…? Surely not, he thinks—after all, he has had a number of dreams throughout his lifetime, and none of them have ever been as crisp as this. Curiously, he pokes himself in the cheek; it feels as real as anything ever has._

_What, then, is going on? Is it an elderly delusion? Simply a figment of his imagination, a glimpse of what he shall never have, in spite of what he desires deeply within? Shaking his head a few times, he rises from the sofa and onto his feet—no longer does he feel any sort of pain in his left leg, nor does his back hunch in that discomforted manner… A fear begins to brew in his chest. He’s not entirely certain what’s happening to him, but the aspect of it all is simply too good to be true; he has wished for such miraculous youth for over twenty years now, and for his desires to suddenly be answered with such accuracy is absurd and unlikely. With a slow intake of breath, he runs a steady hand through his hair—it feels thicker, softer…_

_He plucks a single, blackish strand from the top._

_… He really is young again, isn’t he?_

_Now he knows he’s dreaming._

_“It’s been the strangest bloody day…” he mumbles to himself as his eyes fall upon the grandfather clock in the corner of the room._

_11 pm._

_Did he truly sleep for two hours? Huh. Normally his naps don’t last much longer than an hour or so. Then again, with the way things are going, perhaps it would be wiser to simply go back to sleep, just to see if reawakening would have the same effect._

_He can’t deny it; this dream youth is starting to freak him out a little._

_“… Jake?”_

_A sudden sharpness strikes Jake’s chest._

_He’s dreamt of Dirk before; this wouldn’t be the first time._

_But that doesn’t make it hurt any less._

_“Hey, Strider…” he mutters, and chances a faint, saddened smile. As that familiar sourness forms in his throat, he cranes his neck to peer behind him as a conglomeration of emotions churn and curdle in his stomach; he relishes in the sound of Dirk’s voice, yet despises the mocking manner in which he will never see the man again. It’s a bittersweet reunion, as it always is, and he almost wishes these taunting nightmares would just stop altogether._

_With a steady shifting of his feet, Jake turns entirely now, glancing across the room at his companion’s essence crouched beside the sofa…_

_… whereupon Jake’s elderly body lies motionless._

_A severe look passes across Jake’s face, and his eyes flit between Dirk and himself for a brief span of time._

_… Is Jake…_ Dead? __

_Suddenly, everything makes far more sense, yet far less all the same._

_“Jake…” Dirk’s voice blesses Jake’s ears once more, and it is in this moment that he is reminded of the Strider’s presence. As his heart rate begins to escalate, he allows his eyes to fixate upon Dirk’s face once again, trying in vain to fully grasp the situation at hand. Vivid orange irises stare back, wide and beautiful, completely and utterly bereft of those irksome sunglasses he once sported to darken his vision. He is more filled out than Jake remembers, though it is entirely possible that this is how the man was supposed to look, before his health began to deplete._

_He’s just as dapper as Jake remembers—perhaps even more so._

_“Is it really…?” The words come spilling forth from Jake’s lips faster than he can comprehend—soft, trailing at the end, but the message is carried across, for Dirk slowly, disbelievingly, nods his head once at the other’s inquiry._

_A small, barely perceivable grin begins to spread across the Strider’s mouth—_

_And Jake cannot stand it any longer._

_Hesitantly, cautiously, he steps forward thrice, nearing Dirk with a careful zeal in every motion; not once do their eyes stray from those of the other. So much time has passed, so many years…_

_He stops himself about a foot’s breadth from the other. Licking his suddenly dry lips, Jake lifts a trembling hand, twitching and wary, to tenderly touch the other’s cheek with the pads of his fingers; Dirk shudders beneath the touch, and almost squirms away, perhaps not accustomed to physical contact after having been denied it for so many years. With a gentle intake of breath, Dirk reaches his own hand up and places it carefully atop the adventurer’s._

_It really is him, isn’t it?_

_“Good golly, Dirk…”_

_With this final remark, Jake snaps his arms forward and around Dirk’s body, holding him tight in a desperate, deprived embrace. Dirk reciprocates almost immediately, hugging Jake to his body; his fingers clench and unclench bunches of cloth from the jacket upon Jake’s back. Fleeting breaths pass between them as they inhale the scents of one another, feeling and smelling and relishing in the simple sounds of each other’s breathless pants. Jake has so many questions, so much he cannot answer—but all of that can wait. They have an eternity._

_Tears begin rolling down Jake’s face; he hardly cares anymore. At long last, he is reunited with the only man—the only human being on this earth—that he has ever held more than a simple attraction toward. Nothing will separate them now; no longer are they susceptible to the disapproving eyes of the public._

_Slowly, regrettably Dirk pulls away from the embrace, though does not relinquish his tight hold on Jake’s shirt. “Let’s go.”_

_“Go?” Jake gives a short sniff, wiping the moisture from his face to the best of his ability. “Go where?”_

_“To find Roxy.”_

_A though flickers into Jake’s mind for a moment. “Where_ is _Roxy?”_

_“Waiting for Jane.” Dirk’s response is short, swift, but the emotion in his voice is raw and unchecked. Leaning forward, he plants a chaste, affectionate kiss to Jake’s mouth before jerking his head toward the window. “Let’s blow this place.”_

_Giving a short nod, Jake steps after Dirk, falling into step beside his lover for the first time in years. He would have expected his death to be more horrifying—more traumatizing a thing to accept, yet… Somehow, the promise of reuniting with his dearest companions is enough to calm such uncertainties for the time being._

_They approach the window in silence. Jake’s thoughts begin to race, questions and doubts lingering in the forefront of his mind. What are they to do now? What happens when they are all reunited? Will they forever be together—left to wander this desolate earth until the end of time?_

_As the two slip with ease through the window, Jake shoves such thoughts aside for the time being. He needn’t worry about those things; an entirely new adventure awaits him—the adventure they were never given the chance to pursue._

_No restrictions. No incriminations._

_And so it is that Jake English and Dirk Strider amble along the sidewalk, fingers woven tightly together as they make their escape into the still of the night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THAT IS THE END.  
> Thank you all for sticking by me this long. I'm sorry if the ending is not what you wanted, but the entire idea of this story came about from the aspect of the ending, so I decided to keep it. I never imagined this fic getting as big as it did, there for a while...
> 
> Please keep up with me/keep following me. I will be writing more with this pairing sometime soon. I will also write a few chapters from Dirk's POV eventually.  
> EDIT: The Dirk POV fic is up! Go check it out on my profile. "Surrender the Setting Sun". 
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr under the blogs "lore-heika" and "awkwardkoifish". If you wish to comment/etc on StillOTN, or follow the Dirk-POV-minific, track the tag "stillotn" for the time being. 
> 
> Lastly, the song that inspired the title/the epilogue:
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRb1-SAAIzs
> 
> See you all again, sometime. I promise both Dirk and Jake shall survive whatever story I pursue next. ^~^;;
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated.


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